-i^^' 


PRINCETON,  N.  J. 


BY  2500  .A71  B37  1892 
Barnes,  Annie  Maria,  1852- 
Children  of  the  Kalahari 


Shelf 


^^  ^.^. 


i 


All  Anxious  Conference. 


I'ngo  34. 


CHILDREN 


OF 


THE   KALAHARI 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA. 


BY 

ANNIE  MARIA^BARNES. 


PHILADELPHIA  : 

PRESBYTERIAN  BOARD  OF  PUBLICATION 
AND   SABBATH-SCHOOL  WORK, 

No.  1334  CHESTNUT  STRKKT. 


COPYRIGHT,    1890,  BY 

THE   TRUSTEKS   OK   THE 

PRESBYTKHIAN   HOARD  OF   ITBLICATION 
AND  SABBATIUSCIIOOL  WORK. 


ILL  RIGHTS  RBSBJiVED. 


Westcott  a  Thomson, 
Stereolyi>ers  iiiui  Electrolypers,  Philada. 


PREFACE. 


No  country  has  been  so  much  written  about, 
especially  of  late  years,  as  Africa,  yet  no  country, 
perhaps,  is  so  little  known  as  it  really  appears. 
Beyond  the  missionary  journals  of  Robert  Moffat, 
David  Livingstone,  the  E,ev.  Mr.  Wilson,  Bishop 
Taylor  and  a  few  others,  and  the  personal  narra- 
tives of  Captains  Grant  and  Speke,  Messrs.  Johu 
Charles  Anderson  and  Henry  M.  Stanley,  very 
little  has  been  written  that  deals  accurately  with 
the  inner  life  of  the  people — their  domestic,  social 
and  moral  condition,  their  su]>erstitious  practices, 
their  present  religious  status  under  the  fast-spread- 
ing influence  of  the  gospel ;  or  of  the  country  itself 
— its  wonderful  phenomena,  its  physical  changes, 
its  varied  and  beautiful  flora,  its  trees,  birds  and 
animals. 

In  the  present  volume  there  is  scarcely  an  inci- 
dent, a  description  or  an  adventure  that  has  not 


4  PREFACE. 

its  counferpart  in  tlic  writings  of  Moffat,  I^iving- 
stone,  Auderson  or  some  other  reliable  author; 
indeed,  in  a  few  instances  their  identical  words 
have  been  used.  At  the  same  time,  such  liberties 
have  been  taken  as  are  warranted  by  an  author's 
natural  right.  For  example,  the  cave  "  Lepelole," 
which  was  at  Dr.  Livingstone's  old  mission-station 
of  Kolobeng  in  Sechele's  country,  is  placed  more 
than  tvvo  hundred  miles  farther  north  in  the  Ba- 
mangwato  country,  and  the  name  is  also  bestowed 
upon  that  station  wiioi-e  our  children  of  the  Kala- 
hari are  first  introduced.  With  the  exception  of 
giving  the  mountains  to  the  north  and  east  of  the 
mission-station  the  name  of  Mashona — simply  be- 
cause a  tribe  of  that  name  lived  in  that  direction, 
and  because  no  other  name  appeared  on  the  map 
— the  other  geographical  situations  are  as  accurate 
as  a  close  study  of  Dr.  Livingstone's  map  could 
make  them. 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI. 


CHAPTER   I. 

"The  earth  is  the  Lord's." 

IT  is  early  raorniug  at  the  niission-station  of 
Lepelole,  country  of  the  Bamaugwato,  South- 
ern Africa.  The  village  itself  occupies  the  broad 
and  somewhat  level  summit  of  a  hill,  at  the  base 
of  which  winds  the  Shashane  River,  one  of  the 
many  branches  of  the  vigorous  Limpopo.  Tall, 
stately  trees,  that  grow  in  rich  clusters  here  and 
there,  throw  their  grateful  shade  about  the  doors 
of  the  quaint  dome-shaped  huts  arranged  in  regu- 
lar lines  across  the  brow  of  the  hill,  with  a  broad, 
cleanly-kept  street  directly  through  the  centre  and 
other  shorter  and  narrower  ones  intersecting  it  at 
intervals. 

Around  each  hut  there  is  a  small  patch  of  gar- 
den, in  which  are  growing  yams,  maize,  pumpkins, 
sweet  potatoes,  squashes,  even  beans  and  peas,  and 
all  in  a  pleasing  state  of  cultivation.  These  little 
gardens  are  fenced  in  by  palisades  formed  of  stout 
upright  poles  interwoven  with  wisps  of  the  strong 

5 


6  CHI  LUMEN   UF  THE  KALAHARI: 

and  durable  tiger-grass.  In  tlie  corners  of  the 
enclosures  an  ocvasional  castor-oil  plant  rears  its 
not  unattractive  head,  while  every  now  and  then 
close  to  the  walls  of  a  hut  a  tall,  beautiful  banana- 
shrub  sjjoots  its  slender,  delicate  crest  high  in  air. 

Some  of  these  huts — that  is,  the  more  preten- 
tious of  them,  those  of  the  chief,  his  family,  and 
of  the  head-men  of  the  village — are  built  of  boards 
rudely  sawn  from  the  forest ;  but  the  majority  of 
them  are  of  poles  closely  and  ingeniously  covered 
over  with  thick  grass.  Those  built  of  boards  have 
square  walls  and  circular  roofs,  but  all  the  others 
preserve  their  dome-sliapcd  form  throughout. 

In  the  centre  of  the  village  and  fronting  on 
two  sides  of  the  broad  street,  which  here  makes 
a  curve  around  it,  is  the  kotla,  or  place  of  public 
assembly,  a  somewhat  imposing  structure  fully 
seventy-five  feet  square,  and  built  upon  upright 
posts  with  cross-beams  closely  thatched  with  straw. 
At  each  corner  grows  a  magnificent  banian  tree, 
which  makes  a  pleasant  shade  all  about  it. 

Near  the  kotla  and  facing  one  of  the  side  streets 
stand  the  church  and  school-house  of  the  station, 
and  some  one  hundred  and  fifty  or  two  hundred 
yards  farther  on,  and  higher  up  the  slope  of  the 
hill,  is  the  residence  of  the  missionary. 

As  the  deep  gray  mists  of  coming  dawn  have 
l)egun  to  wraj)  themselves  like  fitful  curtains  about 
the  still  sleeping  station  there  is  no  sight  nor  sound 
of  life.     Not  even  a  stray  dog  is  seen  wandering 


A  STOEY  OF  AFRICA.  7 

through  tlie  streets  nor  an  early  hunter  eager  to  be 
away  after  the  tempting  game.  But  as  the  first 
beams  of  the  rising  sun  begin  to  color  with  a  rich 
warm  crimson  the  far-away  summits  of  the  J\la- 
shona  Mountains,  and  a  little  later  to  tinge  them 
with  a  purple  royal  in  its  splendor,  there  are  the 
stir  and  pulse  of  awakening  life  all  about  the  brow 
of  the  hill  that  sweeps  so  serenely  down  to  meet 
the  flow  of  the  noiselessly  moving  river.  Directly 
the  mist-curtains  have  all  disappeared,  except  in 
the  valleys  and  along  the  river's  line,  and  over 
the  tops  of  the  dome-shaped  huts  and  down  into 
the  yards,  where  the  glad  vegetation  lifts  itself  in 
joyous  salutation,  come  the  dancing  sunbeams,  and 
along  the  broad  streets,  where  the  tall  cocoa-palms 
nod  gracefully  to  and  fro. 

One  by  one  forms  appear  in  the  open  doorways. 
Children  are  seen  here  and  there  under  the  trees. 
A  row  of  figures  with  stone  pitchers  upon  their 
heads  are  betaking  themselves  along  the  broad 
street  to  the  public  well  or  to  the  spring  as  their 
inclinations  direct.  Others,  again,  in  rear  of  the 
huts  are  stooping  above  mounds  not  unlike  ant- 
hills in  shape..  Soon  there  is  about  each  the  bright 
glow  of  fire  and  the  sound  of  simmering  in  an  oven 
set  back  into  the  mound.  Next  a  blaze  is  kindled 
between  some  upright  stones  near  at  hand,  over 
which  a  rude  pot,  that  emits  a  savory  smell  as 
the  contents  become  more  and  more  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  fire  beneath,  is  set  to  boil. 


8  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

In  the  mitlst  of  these  proceedings  the  loud  bhist 
«)f  u  liuni,  folluwod  by  the  lurioiis  beating  of  a 
(hum  in  the  direction  of  the  kotla,  gives  the  crown- 
ing impetus  to  the  bustling  activity  of  the  scene. 
Tail  forms  start  up  hei'e  and  there,  children  come 
scampering  from  every  direction,  old  men  move 
slowly  along,  younger  ones  shove  each  other  in 
their  haste,  all  seeming  to  have  the  same  purpose 
in  view — to  reach  the  rear  of  the  huts  in  the 
quickest  possible  time. 

With  these  movements  alone  to  guide  him,  out- 
side the  appetizing  odors  now  arising  from  all  parts 
of  the  station,  it  would  not  take  long  for  even  the 
most  careless  observer  to  understand  that  the  blare 
of  the  horn  and  the  roll  of  the  drum  were  the 
Lepelole  summons  to  breakfast. 

The  men  are  served  first,  from  both  the  oven 
and  the  pot,  in  wooden  bowls,  in  each  of  which 
is  a  rudely-carved  wooden  spoon.  The  children 
patiently  or  impatiently  await  their  turn,  accord- 
ing as  their  dispositions  may  be  or  as  their  home 
manners  have  received  attention. 

The  breakfast  consists  of  rhinoceros  meat,  which 
the  industrious  hunters  of  the  day  before  have  j)ro- 
vided,  a  porridge  of  Indian  meal  into  which  the 
gravy  has  been  mixed,  and  potatoes  roasted  in  the 
ashes.  But  in  whatever  manner  each  little  black 
j)ickaninny  awaits  his  breakfast,  they  are  all  care- 
ful to  receive  it  in  identically  the  same  fa^jhion; 
that  is,  with   but  one  hand   outstretched.     To  re- 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  9 

ceive  the  bowl  with  two  would  be  altogether  the 
very  worst  evidence  of  bad  raaouers  aud  not  at  all 
in  keeping  with  the  strict  forms  laid  down  in  the 
Lepelole  code  of  juvenile  training.  That  they  may 
eat  it  afterward  either  with  one  hand  or  two  plunged 
into  the  gravy-stirred  porridge,  and  serving  as  the 
mode  of  conveyance  to  the  mouth,  matters  not,  so 
that  only  one  hand  is  outstretched  in  receiving. 

Three-quarters  of  an  hour  later  another  blare  of 
the  horn  and  deep  roll  of  the  drum  summon  to 
prayers  all  the  Lepelole  Bamangwatos,  large  and 
small. 

The  morning  services  are  held  at  the  kotla,  to- 
ward which  structure  men,  women  and  children  are 
now  seen  hurrying,  until  soon  nearly  all  the  straw 
mats  near  the  centre  are  well  covered  with  squat- 
ting figures.  The  missionary's  voice  is  deep  and 
earnest  as  he  reads  the  lesson  from  the  Psalms : 

"  The  earth  is  the  Lord's,  and  the  fullness  there- 
of, the  world  and  they  that  dwell  therein." 

The  psalm  is  rendered  in  the  native  language, 
as  is  aTso  the  short  exhortation  that  follows ;  then 
clear  and  strong  the  words  of  the  morning  hymn 
ring  forth,  sung  by  full  three  hundred  voices : 

"  Eternal  Wisdom  !  tliee  we  praise ; 
Thee  let  creation  sing." 

While  the  breakfast-scene  of  the  camp  is  at 
its  height  a  young  girl  is  coming  slowly  across 
a  grassy    "  veldt "   some   two    miles   away,  riding 


10  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

a  (loukey.  The  girl  is  apparently  about  fifteen 
years  of  age,  with  a  slender  yet  strongly  knit 
figure.  At  present,  however,  she  seems  quite  to 
have  lost  herself,  and  is  sitting  very  loosely  and 
carelessly,  with  her  shouldei*s  bent  forward  and  her 
eyes  upon  the  ground.  The  reins  have  dropped 
from  her  fingers  and  arc  lying  loosely  upon  the 
neck  of  the  donkey — a  circumstance  that,  if  he 
were  not  the  most  conscientious  and  self-respect- 
ing of  donkeys,  would  permit  of  his  easily  follow- 
ing the  bent  of  his  own  sweet  will.  But  there  is 
that  in  his  eyes  which  if  you  could  see  would  act- 
ually shame  you  for  having  such  suspicions  of 
him.  It  says  very  plainly  that  he  wishes  it  un- 
derstood that  he  is  far  too  gentlemanly  a  donkey 
to  take  the  least  advantage  of  loose  reins  or  of 
an  absent-minded  girl,  although  the  grass  of  the 
"veldt"  is  most  tempting. 

The  sudden  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle  some  little 
distance  in  advance  startles  the  girl  at  once  into 
an  attitude  of  attention,  but  altogether  fails  to  have 
a  like  effect  upon  the  grave  and  dignified  donkey, 
who  has  evidently  been  on  the  lookout  for  some- 
thing of  the  kind  all  along.  If  it  had  aroused 
him  into  a  sudden  exhibition  of  heels,  the  young 
girl  in  her  loose  and  careless  pose  would  certainly 
have  gone  flying  over  his  head. 

"That  must  be  Captain  Murray  on  a  morning 
hunt,"  she  says  half  aloud  as  she  raises  her  head 
and  glances  about  her. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  11 

It  is  not  what  could  be  called  a  ])retty  face  that 
is  thus  exposed  to  view,  but  it  certainly  is  a  most 
interesting  and  attractive  one,  and  its  many  good 
points  would  not  fail  to  grow  upon  the  observer. 
A  large,  high  forehead — almost  too  large  and  high, 
some  might  think,  for  the  other  delicately  outlined 
features — and  very  dark  and  thoughtful  brown  eyes 
arched  by  soft  but  strongly-drawn  lashes,  are  the 
more  prominent  characteristics  of  the  face.  The 
mouth  is  rather  large,  but  not  unbeautiful,  for  the 
lips  are  deep  scarlet  and  the  teeth  white,  and,  though 
irregular  in  shape,  are  yet  faultlessly  kept.  The 
nose  has  a  decided  tendency  to  turn  up,  giving  to 
the  face  an  archness  and  piquancy  sometimes  quite 
at  variance  with  its  thoughtful  expression.  The 
hair  is  a  dark  brown  and  inclined  to  curl,  especially 
about  the  forehead,  where  it  now  lies  in  disordered 
rings. 

Having  satisfied  herself  that  there  is  nothing  in 
the  crack  of  the  rifle  to  alarm  her,  and  that  it  is 
indeed  but  a  morning  salute  to  the  birds  on  the 
part  of  her  uncle's  hunter-friend,  Cajjtain  Murray, 
and  after  calling  the  donkey  a  dear  old  fellow  and 
urging  him  forward — ^an  altogether  unnecessary 
proceeding,  he  thinks,  and  one  he  feels  strongly 
tempted  to  resent — Hope  Blandford  once  more  falls 
into  her  musing  attitude. 

Perhaps  ten  minutes  more  are  passed  in  this  way, 
when  she  is  again  aroused  from  her  reverie,  this 
time  by  the  sudden  stopping  of  the  donkey.     For 


12  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

the  last  ffw  minutes  donkey  and  rider  have  been 
gradually  bearing  toward  the  cup-shaped  hill  pre- 
viously referred  to,  until  now  they  are  directly  at 
its  base  and  facing  a  well-worn  path  that  leads  to 
its  summit. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  now,  Chumah  ?"  the  young 
girl  asks  quickly  of  the  donkey  as  she  shakes  the 
lines  playfully  about  his  neck.  "AVhat  has  gone 
wrong  with  Your  Lordshi])?" 

At  the  words  he  turns  his  head  slowly  and  gives 
her  what  approaches  as  near  to  an  indignant  glance 
as  his  mild  eyes  are  ca})able  of  bestowing.  It  says 
as  plainly  as  donkey  language  can  express  it,  "Well, 
if  you  don't  know  and  can't  see,  it  isn't  for  me  to 
tell  you." 

As  though  she  reads  every  word  of  this  in  the 
wide,  deep  eyes,  Hope  quickly  raises  her  head  and 
glances  about  her. 

"  The  Wizard's  Cup !"  she  cries,  preparing  to 
dismount,  "and  I  wasn't  even  thinking  of  it!  Oh, 
you  dear,  knowing  old  darling  !"  throwing  ]\^r  arms 
about  the  donkey's  neck,  for  she  is  now  standing  on 
the  ground,  "  to  remember  so  well  how  much  I  en- 
joy the  climb  to  the  top  and  the  glorious  view  from 
there!  To  think  that  in  my  abstraction  I  would 
have  passed  it  by  !  Rogue,  give  me  hold  of  your 
nose  and  let  me  have  a  kiss,  for  of  all  the  donkeys  in 
the  world  I  do  believe  you  are  the  most  knowing." 

Chumah  raises  his  muzzle  as  though  he  under- 
stands every  word,  and  permits  her  to  fondle  it. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  13 

still  with  the  same  grave  and  dignified  bearing;  but 
there  is  a  look  in  his  eyes  which  says  plainly  that 
His  Lordship,  Cluimah,  is  well  pleased  indeed. 

"And  now  come  along.  You  know  that  I  like 
best  to  climb  up  the  hill  for  sake  of  the  exercise, 
but  that  is  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  come  too, 
is  it,  you  rogue?  Do  you  know  now,"  shaking 
her  finger  very  slowly  and  gravely  at  him,  "  that 
I  somehow  think  you  rather  enjoy  more  than  is 
necessary  this  part  of  our  morning  frolic,  my  going 
up  the  hill  and  leading  you  after  me?  It  looks 
very  much  as  if  the  order  of  things  was  being  re- 
versed, and  that  I  am  carrying  you  instead  of  you 
carrying  me,  does  it  not?  Oh,  you  needn't  flap 
those  great  ears  of  yours  and  blink  your  eyes  so 
innocently,  for  I  know  very  well  it  is  so." 

A  few  minutes  of  steady  climbing  and  the  sum- 
mit is  reached.  Between  two  trees  a  rude  seat  is 
placed,  and,  the  greater  part  of  the  brush  covering 
this  portion  of  the  hill  having  been  cleared  away, 
there  is  an  almost  unobstructed  view  in  every 
direction.  The  sun  is  now  a  full  hour's  journey 
in  the  heavens,  and,  though  a  few  trailing  skirts 
of  mist  still  stir  along  the  lower  valleys,  the  sum- 
mits of  the  neighboring  hills  are  all  aglow  with 
radiance.  Below  are  the  gleaming  waters  of  the 
river  winding  in  and  out  among  the  glittering  green 
tangles  of  bush  and  fern.  On  each  side  stretch  the 
grassy  "veldts,"  their  waving  expanses  gemmed 
with   brilliant   wild    flowers    and   here   and   there 


14  CHILJ)liEN   UF  THE  KALAHARI: 

stirred  into  vitijoroiis  life  by  the  cattle  that  graze 
upon  tlu'in.  In  the  direction  of  the  nii.s,sion-sta- 
tion,  and  lying  in  a  valley  that  here  follows  the 
trend  of  the  river,  are  the  tobacco  and  sugar-cane 
plantations  of  the  natives.  To  the  right  there  are 
dense  patches  of  lofty  forest  that  seem  to  ring  in 
the  ricli  and  undulating  grass-lands  and  to  serve 
as  a  barrier  to  the  farther  wanderings  of  the  more 
restless  of  the  animals.  Here  and  there  between  the 
dense  portions  of  the  forest  and  the  fertile  stretches 
of  the  "veldt"  are  dotted  clusters  of  stately  palms, 
their  long  fronds  stirring  gracefully  in  the  morning 
breeze.  Far  away  against  the  horizon  the  bold  crests 
of  the  Moshana  Mountains  seem  piercing  the  very 
blue  of  heaven,  their  bases  in  jiart  still  enwrapped 
by  the  morning  mists  that  scatter  to  right  and  left 
before  the  resolute  advances  of  the  sun.  The  sum- 
mits, having  already  caught  the  full  effulgence  of 
the  rays,  are  glowing  like  living  pyramids  of  light. 

"Oh  !"  exclaims  the  young  girl  reverently  as  she 
pushes  back  the  broad  straw  hat  from  her  brow  and 
stands  with  clasped  hands  and  a  rapt  expression 
ujion  her  face,  "how  good  is  God  !  and  how  beau- 
tiful the  world  he  has  made !" 

"Do  you  really  think  that.  Miss  Hope?"  a 
voice  near  her  asks  suddenly. 

"Oh,  Captain  Murray,"  she  says  as  she  turns 
and  iK'holds  the  brown  bearded  face  of  her  un- 
cle's hunter-friend,  "how  can  you  put  such  a 
question  to  me?" 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  15 

The  next  moment  she  blushes  deeply  at  her 
own  earnestness. 

"It  came  quite  naturally,"  he  replies.  "  This 
bit  of  God's  world  is  beautiful  enough  to  call  forth 
enthusiasm,  I  will  admit.  But  you  spoke  of  the 
world  in  general.  If  you  could  see  some  of  the 
ugly  spots  I  have  seen,  you  would  not  think  it  on 
a  whole  so  beautiful." 

"That  is  all  in  God's  wise  plan,"  she  says  slow- 
ly. "  If  he  had  made  it  too  beautiful,  too  attractive 
throughout,  we  should  not  want  to  leave  it  for  the 
other  beyond." 

"  And  do  you  believe  the  other  beyond  is  even 
more  beautiful  than  this?"  with  a  sweep  of  the 
hand  that  takes  in  all  the  fair,  sweet  scene. 

"  Infinitely  more  so,"  she  answers  promptly. 
"  Oh,  Captain  Murray,  the  eyes  of  earth  have  never 
seen  anything  to  equal  the  beauties  of  that  won- 
drous city." 

A  silence  falls  between  them.  Captain  INIurray's 
fine  brown  eyes  take  on  a  softer  light.  Perhaps  it 
is  a  reflection  from  the  serene  radiance  of  the  sky, 
or  it  may  be,  after  all,  that  it  is  Hope's  words  that 
have  brought  the  change. 

"  Do  you  come  here  often.  Miss  Hope?"  he  ques- 
tions, at  length,  as  he  follows  the  movement  she  has 
made  toward  the  plank  seat  between  the  trees. 

"  Oh  ves,  almost  everv  mornino;  when  the  weath- 
er  is  fine.  I  usually  go  for  a  ride  of  two  or  three 
miles  across  the  veldt   before   breakfast,  and  stop 


IG  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAUABI: 

here  on  my  return.  C'liiim:ili  lias  so  learned  my 
ways  that  this  morning,  when  in  a  fit  of  abstraction 
I  was  about  to  pass  it  by,  he  suddenly  recidled  me 
to  myself  by  a  decided  stand  in  front  of  the  path 
leading  to  the  summit." 

"  Chumah  is  the  name  of  the  donkey,  then  ?" 
Captain  Murray  asks  with  a  look  in  Churaah's 
direction.  "I  had  noticed  that  you  and  your 
cousin  had  donkeys  very  much  alike,  but  I  did  not 
know  the  name  of  either." 

"I  call  mine  Chumah,  and  Ellie  calls  hers  Susi. 
They  are  named  for  the  two  noble  fellows  who 
headed  the  expedition  that  bore  the  body  of  Dr. 
Livingstone  half  across  Africa." 

"  That  was  truly  a  peerless  deed,"  Captain  Mur- 
ray comments,  "and  I  do  not  wonder  at  your  en- 
thusiasm. I  hope  the  donkeys  do  credit  to  the 
names." 

"  Indeed  they  do  !  You  could  not  find  steadier  or 
more  dignified  creatures  anywhere,  and  they  are  both 
knowing  and  precious  old  darlings.  Why,  do  you 
know  that  I  sometimes  think  Chumah  can  actually 
talk.  At  least,  he  talks  with  liis  eyes  just  as 
])lainly  as  I  do  with  my  lips.  There !  he  is  saying 
now,  *  I  think  this  conference  has  lasted  long 
enough,  and  we  had  better  be  going,  or  we  sha'n't 
get  a  bit  of  breakfast.' " 

At  these  words  and  the  look  directed  toward  him 
Chumah  gives  his  great  eyes  a  blink  and  his  long 
ears  a  twitch. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  17 

"They  are  both  fine  fellows,  to  be  sure,"  Cap- 
tain Murray  says  again  in  allusion  to  the  donkeys 
as  he  walks  beside  Hope  down  the  hill,  "I  have 
noticed  before  that  they  were  unusually  fine  ani- 
nials  for  this  part  of  the  country,  and  have  often 
wondered  where  your  uncle  obtained  them." 

''  They  were  presented  to  Uncle  Clement  by 
Sechele,  chief  of  the  Bakwains.  Sechele  was  a 
great  favorite  with  Dr.  Livingstone,  who  was  the 
first  missionary  to  his  people,  and  through  whom 
Sechele  was  converted.  Livingstone  lived  for  many 
years  with  him  at  his  old  village  of  Kolobeng. 
One  of  the  doctor's  little  children  is  buried  there, 
and  I  have  heard  my  uncle  say  that  Livingstone 
always  had  a  peculiar  tenderness  for  the  spot  and 
an  unusually  warm  regard  for  Sechele.  On  the 
doctor's  second  return  from  England  he  left  two 
fine  donkeys  at  the  Cape  for  Sechele,  and  these  are 
of  the  same  stock." 

"  Are  you  not  afraid,  Miss  Hope,  even  with  so 
faithful  and  sagacious  a  companion  as  Chumah,  to 
take  these  early  morning  rides  alone?"  Captain 
Murray  questions  as  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  he  stops 
to  assist  her  to  mount. 

"  Oh  no,  not  at  all,"  is  the  quick  reply.  "  Wliy 
should  I  be?  But  I  do  not  always  take  them 
alone,  as  you  seem  to  think.  Sometimes  both  Ellie 
and  Retta  come  with  me,  and  again  one  of  the 
boys.  However,  since  my  aunt's  death,  a  year  ago," 
her  voice  dropping  into  a  tone  of  peculiar  sadness, 

2 


18  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

"poor  Ellio  has  so  imich  to  sec  after  ill )out  the 
house  and  elsewhere,  besides  takin<;^  care  of  the 
baby  Louise,  that  she  has  had  almost  entirely  to 
give  up  her  rides  of  late,  except  in  the  afternoons. 
Last  evening  the  boys  went  away  with  some  of  the 
men  of  the  village  on  a  hunting-twpedition,  Retta 
was  not  feeling  well,  and  so  I  had  to  come  alone. 
But,  Captain  Murray,  suppose  I  do  ride  by  myself 
what  danger  eould  there  be  ^hen  I  have  been  here 
for  six  years  and  every  native  for  ten  miles  around 
knows  me  by  sight?  If  it  is  the  wild  beasts  you 
fear,  why  they  have  all  been  frightened  away  from 
the  vicinity  of  the  village  by  this  time." 

"  Oh,  no  danger  from  them,  certainly,  nor  from 
the  natives  of  the  neighborhood,  either,  I  feel  as- 
sured," Captain  Murray  rejoins  quickly.  "  But 
you  forget  the  threatening  attitude  the  Matabele 
have  assumed  of  late.  Those  grim  Zulus  know  no 
mercy  M'hen  once  they  start  upon  the  war-path. 
Then  on  the  other  side  of  us  are  the  Boers.  They 
are  even  worse  than  the  Matabele,  for  they  seem  to 
have  neither  a  sense  of  justice  nor  a  j^rinciple  of 
honor,  while  you  occasionally  will  find  a  Zulu  with 
both,  our  grim  and  upright  old  Inkoosi,  for  in- 
stance, and  your  uncle's  faithful  Mazika,  If  the 
Boers  and  the  Matabele  did  nothing  more  than  make 
you  a  captive  just  to  harass  your  uncle,  it  surely 
would  be  a  most  unpleasant  state  of  affairs.  You 
know  what  threatening  messages  both  have  been 
sending  him  of  late?" 


A   STORY  OF  AFRICA.  19 

"Yes,  Mosilikatse,  the  Matabele  cliief,  hates 
Biibi,  and  tlie  Boers  hate  my  uncle,  and  between 
the  two  of  them,  though  they  are  really  each  other's 
enemy  at  heart,  they  will  unite  in  any  mean  thing 
not  only  to  torment  the  chief  and  uncle,  but  to 
injure  them  as  well.  In  short,  I  don't  believe  they 
M'ould  hesitate  an  instant  to  sweep  the  whole  mis- 
sion-station of  Lepelole  out  of  existence ;  that  is, 
if  they  could  get  the  opportunity.  The  Boers  are 
great  coAvards,  as  you  know,  and  I  don't  believe 
they  will  openly  molest  my  uncle,  for  fear  of  the 
indignation  it  will  arouse  abroad  and  the  almost 
certain  retaliation.  As  to  the  Matabele,  they  stand 
too  much  in  awe  of  Bubi  and  the  cannon  he  has 
])lanted  upon  the  hill.  Bubi  has  been  a  great 
fighter  in  his  day,  and  has  before  completely  routed 
the  Matabele  in  an  attack  made  upon  him.  They 
know  well  what  he  is  when  aroused." 

"  Well,  he  is  a  fine  old  warrior,  to  be  sure,  and 
looks  every  inch  a  soldier  in  that  brass-buttoned 
scarlet  coat  the  officers  from  the  Cape  have  sent 
him;  and  his  men  are  nearly  all  bold,  high-spirit- 
ed follows,  who  wouldn't  hesitate  a  moment,  I  feel 
sure,  to  charge  the  most  formidable  line  of  Zulus 
that  could  be  formed,  though  they  do  seem  so  quiet 
and  peaceful  in  every-day  life." 

"And  to  think  that  twelve  years  ago  they  were 
dirty,  ignorant  creatures,  so  debased  in  many  things 
that  they  were  scarce  raised  above  the  beasts  of  the 
forest  !"" 


20  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALMIAIU: 

"A  striking;  illustration,  truly,  of  the  power  of 
the  gosjiel  of  Christ  Jesus  when  proclaimed  by  one 
earnest,  consistent  nian,"  CajHain  iNIurray  says  with 
fervor. 

They  have  now  reached  the  main  entrance  of  the 
mission-station,  and  as  his  eyes  take  in  the  some- 
what imposing  appearance  of  the  church  and  school- 
house,  the  neat,  well-arranged  huts,  the  blooming 
gardens,  the  broad,  clean-swept  streets — further,  as 
he  notes  the  air  of  prosperity  and  happiness  every- 
where visible — words  of  appreciation  escape  Cap- 
tain Murray's  lips,  followed  the  next  moment  by 
an  unconscious  sigh,  as  though  of  some  dim  fore- 
boding. 

"  This  is  indeed  a  pleasant  picture  to  look  upon," 
he  exclaims  with  deep  feeling,  "and  it  would  be 
terrible  to  think  of  its  being  swept  out  of  existence 
by  the  fierce  jNIatabele  or  yet  by  the  more  cowardly 
and  treacherous  Boers.  Yet  I  really  do  not  think 
that  either  the  Matabele  or  the  Boers  will  dare  put 
their  threats  *in  execution,"  he  says  by  way  of  as- 
surance as  he  notes  the  girl's  troubled  face.  "  Still, 
I  feel  that  I  would  like  to  stay  some  weeks  longer, 
at  least  until  it  can  be  definitely  ascertained  just 
what  the  situation  is." 

"  And  can  you  not  ?"  she  says  somewhat  en- 
treatingly. 

"  I  am  afraid  not.  Miss  Hope.  INIy  friend  Gum- 
ming and  I  have  long  promised  Captains  Osgood 
and  Saunders  of  the  Cape  to  join  them  in  a  hunt- 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  21 

iug-expedition  to  the  Zambesi.  They  will  be  along 
next  week,  with  their  Makololo  guide  and  company 
of  Kaffirs.  Gumming,  lukoosi,  the  Hottentot 
Chaka  and  I  will  join  them  here." 

"Are  you  not  afraid  to  go  so  far  into  the  wilds? 
I  have  heard  that  some  of  the  natives  between  this 
and  the  Zambezi  are  hostile  and  treacherous." 

"  So  they  are.  Miss  Hope,  in  many  respects. 
But  do  you  know  that  ever  since  Livingstone 
journeyed  and  preached  among  them,  teaching 
them  the  peace  on  earth  and  good-will  to  men  of 
the  Christian  religion,  as  well  as  exemplifying  in 
his  own  blameless  life  the  beauties  of  an  honest 
and  generous  manhood,  none  of  us  hunters,  who  in- 
tend being  perfectly  straightforward  with  the  natives, 
fear  to  go  among  them,  especially  when  we  use 
the  name  of  Livingstone.  It  is  indeed  a  magic 
word  and  has  many  times  saved  from  death.  A 
friend  of  mine,  who  has  just  been  up  in  the 
Makoude  country,  told  me  of  a  very  critical  posi- 
tion in  which  the  quick  use  of  the  name  of  this 
matchless  man  snatched  him  and  his  comrades 
from  instant  death.  A  fierce  chief  and  his  baud 
had  ruslied  upon  them  when,  having  come  from  a 
bath  in  the  river,  they  were  without  weapon  of 
any  kind.  The  axes  of  the  savages  were  raised 
to  slay,  when  my  friend  noticed  the  right  shoulder 
and  sleeve  and  part  of  the  skirt  of  a  white  man's 
coat  adorning  the  body  of  the  chief. 

"  '  Hold  !'  cried  my  friend — '  a  white  man's  coat ! 


22  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

Where  did  you  get  it?  It  surely  must  be  Living- 
stone's, for  no  otlur  Mliitc  man  has  ever  been  in 
these  parts.' 

"At  tiie  word  'Livingstone'  the  cliief  instantly 
lowered  his  axe,  and  his  men  followed  his  ex- 
ample. 

"'Yes,  the  good  man  Livingstone,'  the  chief 
quickly  replied — 'a  short  man  with  a  bushy  mous- 
tache and  a  kind,  piercing  eye — a  man  who  treated 
all  men  as  brothers.     Did  you  know  him?' 

"  '  Yes,'  my  friend  answered  truthfully,  *  I  knew 
him  once,  but  I  do  not  know  him  now.  He  is  dead. 
He  is  up  there,'  pointing  to  the  sky  above  them. 
'He  sees  us  now  while  we  talk,  and  he  is  very,  very 
angry  to  know  that  you  are  not  treating  us  as  he 
taught  you  to  treat  all  men — as  brothers.' 

"  The  chief,  at  once  thoroughly  overcome,  fell 
upon  his  knees  and  besought  their  forgiveness."* 

"  What  a  grand  and  noble  man  Dr.  Livingstone 
really  was  !"  Hope  says,  with  her  fine  eyes  glowing, 
"and  how  his  influence  is  growing  from  year  to 
year !  We  have  at  the  station  now  a  Londa-man, 
by  the  name  of  Intemese,  who  once  acted  as  a  guide 
for  Livingstone,  I  believe,  in  his  famous  march 
from  sea  to  sea.  He  fairly  worships  the  name. 
AVhen  the  news  of  the  great  missionary's  death 
came  it  was  hard  at  first  to  convince  Intemese. 

" '  Oh  no,  niissie  !  oh  no  !'  he  kej)t  persistently 
reiterating.     'Such  men  never  die.     He  is  but  gone 
*Thi8  scene  iictiiallv  occurred. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  23 

away  upon  a  journey,  as  he  so  often  used  to  go. 
He  will  come  back  again — he  will  come  back.' " 

They  have  by  this  time  come  in  sight  of  the 
kotla.  Hope's  face  falls  as  she  notes  its  almost 
deserted  appearance. 

"It  is  even  later  than  I  thought  it  was,"  she 
says  regretfully.  "  They  have  not  only  had  break- 
fast, but  prayers  are  over  as  well.  I  fear  uncle  will 
be  vexed  with  me,  as  he  does  not  like  us  to  miss 
the  morning  services.  It  sets  a  bad  example,  he 
says,  to  the  more  carelessly  inclined  of  the  natives." 

"I  somehow  feel  that  he  will  forgive  you  this 
time,"  Captain  Murray  says  reassuringly,  "  espe- 
cially when  he  comes  to  know  that  you  have  been 
worshiping  in  another  and  far  more  beautiful 
temple." 

A  few  yards  farther  on  they  come  in  sight  of  the 
mission-house. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"Many  are  they  that  rise  up  against  me." 

n^IIE  mission-house  at  Lepelole  faces  the  same 
-L  side-street  as  that  upon  which  the  church  and 
scliool-house  stand.  It  is  about  two  hundred  yards 
beyond  and  somewliat  more  elevated,  as  the  brow 
of  the  hill  here  gives  a  gently-sloping  rise.  The 
walls  of  the  house  are  formed  of  rudely-pressed, 
sun-baked  brick.  It  has  a  high-raised,  pointed 
roof  of  thick,  strong  boards  carefully  thatched 
with  straw,  and  small,  evenly-set  glass  windows, 
the  frames  of  which,  though  rude,  are  yet  light 
and  strong.  The  glass  has  been  brought  from 
the  Cape,  the  frames  are  the  work  of  native  car- 
penters. It  is  one  story  in  height,  and  has  broad 
verandas  all  around  it,  about  many  points  of  which 
vines  have  been  trained  to  clamber. 

In  the  rear  there  is  a  smaller  building  of  similar 
construction,  though  more  open,  which  serves  as  a 
kitchen.  Underneath  the  dwelling-house  there  is 
a  cellar  used  for  storing  away  suj)j)lies  in  order  to 
keep  them  fresh  and  cool.  Behind  the  kitchen 
there  is  a  large  and  beautifully  kept  vegetable  gar- 
den, and  still  farther  beyond  this  an  orchard  of 
2i 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  25 

many  kinds  of  fruit  trees,  both  native  and  im- 
ported. Some  of  these  are  just  in  bloom;  othei-s, 
again,  are  laden  with  a  tempting  array  of  ripened 
fruit.  At  one  side  of  the  house  a  small  grove  of 
carefully  tended  orange  trees  is  growing,  and  at  the 
other  about  the  same  number  of  lemon  and  lime 
trees.  Both  are  iu  full  fruit,  and  both  present  a 
highly  attractive  appearance. 

The  house,  garden  and  orchard  are  all  enclosed 
by  a  high  palisade  of  upright  poles  stoutly  woven 
together  with  strong  withes  of  tough  bark.  Along 
the  four  sides  of  this  palisade  is  a  dense  hedge  of 
quince-bushes,  too  thick  to  be  at  all  productive,  and 
evidently  serving  principally  as  a  means  of  further 
protection  against  marauding  man  and  beast. 

A  little  beyond  the  house,  just  where  the  side  of 
the  hill  slopes  down  somewhat  gently  to  meet  the 
almost  dry  bed  of  a  water-course  that  has  once  been 
an  important  feeder  of  the  Shashane,  there  is  an 
immense  wall  of  banian  trees  that  quite  shuts  off 
the  view  in  this  direction. 

The  country  on  this  side,  which  may  properly  be 
called  the  rear  of  the  mission-station,  presents  an 
altogether  different  appearance  from  that  on  the 
front  and  to  the  left  and  right.  Only  a  few  hundred 
yards  beyond  the  almost  dry  bed  of  the  stream  rise 
immense  masses  of  black  basalt,  some  of  them  nearly 
a  thousand  feet  above  the  plain,  and  one  or  two  of 
them  quite  overtopping  the  modest  hill  upon  which 
the  mission-station  is  planted.     From  base  to  sum- 


26  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

niit  they  are  scarred  and  split  by  innumerable  tliiiiks 
and  cavities  wliicli  give  plain  evidence  of  some 
mighty  volcanic  eruption.  Further  proof  of  this 
is  found  in  the  immense  beds  of  lava  that  lie  heaped 
upon  the  plain  surrounding  the  bases  of  these  hills. 
Strange  to  say,  however,  they  do  not  a])pear  to  de- 
tract from  the  fertility  of  the  soil,  but  rather  to  add 
to  it,  for  upon  these  very  beds  the  foliage  seems  to 
grow  all  the  more  luxuriantly.  Innumerable  broken 
masses,  having  rolled  downward  from  the  summits 
of  the  hills,  have  caught  and  hang  ])iied  against 
each  other,  forming  wild  yet  sale  nooks  of  retreat 
in  times  of  danger.  Indeed,  Bamangwato  tra- 
dition has  it  that  the  natives  of  the  village  have 
more  than  once  been  saved  from  complete  exter- 
mination at  the  hands  of  cruel  foes  by  fleeing  to 
these  rocks  for  ])rotection. 

The  small  yard  in  front  of  the  mission-house 
slopes  somewhat  like  a  terrace.  In  it  are  grow- 
ing many  of  the  native  wild  flowers,  which  in  a 
state  of  cultivation  jiresent  a  decidedly  more  attract- 
ive apj)earance.  Among  these  are  several  varie- 
ties of  lilies  and  a  few  specimens  of  the  more  pre- 
possessing of  the  prickly-pear  cactus.  There  are 
also  a  number  of  small,  sturdy  trees  of  the  guava, 
and  several  of  the  avocado,  or  alligator  pear  as  the 
natives  call  it. 

Water  is  brought  up  to  these  gardens  and  or- 
chards, as  well  as  to  those  of  the  natives,  by  means 
of  pipes  set  along  the  hills  and  worked  by  ingeniously 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  27 

contrived  pumps,  nearly  every  part  of  which  is  the 
production  of  home  mechanics.  But  the  planning 
and  successful  carrying  out  of  this  somewhat  rude 
yet  quite  satisfactory  system  of  water- works  is 
due  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Lillington,  who  in  fitting  him- 
self for  the  work  before  him  recognized  that  he 
would  be  called  upon  to  do  other  things  besides 
leading  lost  souls  to  Christ.  Thus  he  can  handle 
a  carpenter's  plane,  a  blacksmith's  hammer  or  a 
surgeon's  scalpel  with  equal  success,  as  well  as  pray 
with  all  the  fervor  of  his  honest  heart  for  a  dying 
soul  or  exhort  others  to  repentance. 

As  Captain  Murray  and  Hope  come  in  sight  of 
the  mission-house  the  latter  suddenly  exclaims, 

"  Why,  there  are  uncle  and  your  friend  Mr. 
Gumming  on  the  front  veranda  !  They  seem  to 
have  been  on  the  lookout  for  us,  and  now  they  are 
coming  with  haste  to  meet  us.  What  can  the  mat- 
ter be  ?" 

"  I  was  uneasy  about  you,  Hope,"  her  uncle  says 
as  he  reaches  her  side,  and  then  leads  the  donkey 
Avithin  the  palisades,  where  he  assists  her  to  dis- 
mount with  old-time  chivalrous  courtesy.  "  Where 
have  you  been  all  this  time,  ray  dear?" 

"  Across  the  veldt,  uncle,  for  two  or  three  miles, 
and  then  up  on  the  Wizard's  Cup  for  the  view.  I 
assure  you  that  I  did  not  intend  to  linger  so,  but 
ray  thoughts  have  been  so  abstracted  all  the  morn- 
ing I  scarce  noted  how  the  time  was  slipping  by." 

"  Well,  you  must  uever  go  again  without  your 


28  CHILDREN  OF  THE   KALAHARI: 

brother  or  Pierce,  not  even  witli  Ellie  and  Hen- 
rietta," Mr.  Lillington  says  positively  and  with  a 
shadow  npon  his  hrow. 

"  Why,  uncle,"  Ht)j)e  returns  with  some  aston- 
ishment, "  what  has  caused  you  to  take  this  sudden 
decision  ?  You  know  you  liave  several  times  con- 
sented to  my  going  a  short  distance  alone,  when 
neither  Ellie  nor  the  boys  could  go  with   me." 

"  Tke  truth  is,  Miss  Hope,"  Mr.  Gumming  here 
interposes  as  he  notices  the  perplexed  look  uj^on  her 
face  and  the  somewhat  abstracted  air  of  Mr.  Lilling- 
ton,  "your  uncle  is  very  much  worried  over  some 
news  that  has  just  been  brought  him  by  the  Kaffir 
boy  Jim.  The  latter  was  out  this  morning  before 
sunrise  hunting  for  some  stray  cattle,  and  reports 
to  have  seen,  about  five  miles  to  the  northward  of 
this,  a  band  of  suspicious-looking  Zulus.  They 
seemed  to  be  reconnoitring,  and  Jim  considers  it 
lucky  they  did  not  see  him,  and  took  care  to  con- 
tinue crouching  in  the  bush  until  they  were  out  of 
sight.    He  says  they  were  coming  in  this  direction." 

"  Do  you  really  think,  uncle,  they  mean  any 
harm?"  Hope  turns  to  ask  of  him  anxiously. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  to  thiuk,  my  dear.  May- 
be they  do  and  maybe  they  do  not.  Mosilikatse 
has  been  threatening  us  for  some  time;  though  he 
has  threatened  us  before,  for  that  matter — not,  how- 
ever, so  determinedly  as  now.  Still,  it  is  best  to  be 
cautious.  Perhaps  I  would  not  have  been  so  un- 
easy at  your  protracted  absence  but  for  the  news 


.4  STORY  OF  A  FEW  A.  29 

Jim  brought.  I  knew  Cai)tain  Murray  was  out 
that  way  and  would  likely  chance  upon  you." 

"  Yes,"  returns  Captain  Murray,  "  I  met  Miss 
Hope  at  her  favorite  resort,  the  Wizard's  Cup,  and 
most  glorious  indeed  I  found  the  view  from  its 
summit.  Pei'haps  it  is  a  little  ray  fault  that  she 
is  so  late,  as  I  detained  her  in  conversation." 

"  Oh  no.  Captain  Murray,  you  must  not  take 
any  of  the  blame,"  Hope  says  quickly.  "When 
once  I  get  to  the  summit  of  the  Wizard's  Cup,  I 
scarce  know  when  to  come  away." 

As  these  words  are  passing  between  Captain 
Murray  and  Hope,  Mr.  Lilliugton  seems  scarcely 
conscious  of  what  they  are  saying,  but  stands  gaz- 
ing away  into  space  with  the  troubled  look  upon 
his  face  deepening  every  moment. 

The  missionary  is  perhaps  fifty  years  of  age. 
His  frame  is  tall  and  spare — in  truth,  very  much 
inclined  to  boniness.  But  when  he  walks  he  car- 
ries himself  so  well  and  his  finely-shaped  head  is 
set  so  firmly  between  his  broad  shoulders  that  he 
has  quite  a  commanding  air.  His  hair  is  of  a  dark 
brown,  almost  black,  and  plentifully  sprinkled  with 
gray.  It  is  cropped  short,  as  is  also  the  thick 
moustache.  Of  beard  there  is  no  further  sign,  the 
remainder  being  closely  shaven  away.  The  face  is 
rather  lean  and  deeply  furrowed,  with  a  slightly 
perceptible  hollowness  about  the  cheeks,  the  whole 
being  thoroughly  well  tanned  by  the  African  sun. 
The  most  persistent  expression  of  the  face  is  that 


30  (3H I  LURKS   UF   Till':   KALAHARI: 

of  inflexible  resolution,  espeeially  that  u;iven  by  the 
firm  settint;  t(>;L;i'ther  of  tiie  li|)s  that  show  ])lainly 
beneath  the  chtsely-triniiMed  inoiistaehe.  It  sju'aUs 
of  an  hal)itual  sell'-coniinand,  of  a  constant  keepintJ^ 
on  guard.  It  i.s  well,  considerinf^  the  good  niis.si(jn- 
ary's  desire  to  win  the  love  and  the  confidence  of 
his  people,  that  the  kind,  bright  eyes  may  have  so 
decided  a  tendency  to  soften  all  the  sterner  ex- 
pressions. 

By  this  time  Captain  Murray  and  Hope  have 
reached  the  stone  ste|)s  leading  to  the  front  veranda. 

"Is  it  really  you,  Hope?"  an  anxious  voice  asks 
as  a  young  girl,  some  two  years  older  than  herself, 
meets  her  at  the  top  of  the  steps.  "  We  were  all 
getting  so  nneasy  about  you.  I  suppose  father  has 
told  you  the  news  Kaffir  Jim  brought?" 

"  Yes,  Ellie,  and  I  am  sorry  to  have  caused  even 
a  little  distress,"  Hope  says  regretfully,  laying  her 
hand  affectionately  upon  her  cousin's  shoulder  as 
she  speaks.  "I  will  try  to  be  more  thoughtful  in 
the  future." 

Though  older  by  two  years  and  some  months 
than  her  cousin,  Ellie  Lillington  is  yet  not  so  tall, 
neither  is  her  figure  so  compactly  built.  It  is, 
indeed,  like  her  father's,  decidedly  inclined  to 
spareuess,  but,  like  her  father,  she  carries  herself 
well,  with  her  head  finely  poised  between  firm, 
upright  shoulders.  She  has  fair,  delicate  skin, 
which  even  the  sun  of  this  torrid  climate  has  failed 
to  tan    into  any  degree   of   roughness,  soft   light- 


A  STOBY  OF  AFRICA.  31 

brown  hair  worn  in  a  simple  coil  low  on  her  neck, 
and  very  kind  and  gentle  eyes  of  a  changeable  gray. 
The  other  features  of  her  face  are  in  accord  with 
the  fairness  of  the  skin,  being  very  delicately  out- 
lined, with  the  exception  of  the  nose,  which  is 
rather  large,  though  well  shaped.  But  the  prin- 
cipal charms  about  Ellie  are  her  low,  beautifully 
modulated  voicie,  which  is  never  raised  into  harsh- 
ness even  under  the  most  provoking  circumstances, 
and  her  warm,  loving  and  loyal  heart. 

"  Come  right  along  and  get  your  breakfast,  both 
you  and  Captain  Murray,"  Ellie  says  as  she  pushes 
Hope  gently  toward  the  apartment  that  serves  as 
both  sitting-room  and  dining-room  :  "  I  know  you 
must  be  hungry." 

"  Oh,  Ellie,  I  hope  you  haven't  worried  about 
keeping  breakfast  for  us,"  Hope  says  with  some  com- 
punction. "  I  for  one  do  not  deserve  it.  I  know 
how  many  duties  you  have  and  how  precious  your 
time  is.  It  makes  me  ashamed  to  think  of  your 
being  put  to  extra  trouble  on  my  account,  and  all 
because  of  my  thoughtlessness.  It  is  time  now  for 
your  class  in  the  mission-school,  is  it  not?" 

"  No,  not  quite,  but  even  if  it  were  you  must  not 
let  that  worry  you.  Being  so  anxious  about  you, 
and  not  knowing  exactly  when  you  would  come,  I 
sent  word  a  short  while  ago  that  I  might  not  be 
there  for  an  hour  yet.  They  can  manage  very  well 
until  then  without  me.  As  to  keeping  breakfast, 
that  has  been  no  trouble.     I  am  only  sorry  that  it 


32  CIJILDJiEN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

is  in  such  a  state  by  now  that  you  will  hardly  en- 
joy it. — I  do  wish,  Captain  Murray,"  turning  to 
tiie  latter,  *'  you  couhl  have  been  here  to  get  some 
of  your  antelope  meat  when  first  cooked.  It  was 
delicious  :  I  told  Mainochisane  she  must  have  tried 
herself. — And  the  griddle-cakes,  Hope,  that  you 
like  so  much,  I  know  are  quite  spoiled." 

"Please  do  not  worry  about  it.  Miss  Ellie," 
Captain  Murray  hastens  to  say.  "  I  feel  somewhat, 
with  your  cousin,  that  we  laggards  do  not  deserve 
even  such  as  awaits  us." 

The  room  in  which  they  now  find  themselves  is  a 
moderate-sized  apartment  about  twelve  feet  square, 
and  is  very  simply  and  quaintly  furnished.  The 
inside  of  the  brick  walls,  as  an  extra  preventive 
against  heat,  are  covered  with  a  thick  plaster  of 
so  rude  a  manufacture  that  particles  of  the  coarse 
straw  with  which  it  is  mixed  show  all  over  its 
surface.  But  it  is  packed  tightly  and  somewhat 
smoothly  against  the  bricks  in  spite  of  its  coarse 
quality,  and  really  looks  quite  well.  There  are 
two  small  windows,  each  of  which  is  covered  with 
a  thick  curtain  of  spotless  cotton  cloth.  About  the 
floor  are  ari'anged  mats  of  straw  and  of  cocoa- 
fibre,  all  of  native  manufacture.  An  oblong  table 
of  some  light-colored  wood,  and  also,  like  the  mats, 
an  article  of  home  production,  occupies  the  centre 
of  the  floor.  From  its  positicm,  as  well  as  from 
two  or  three  suggestive  appointments,  it  is  easy 
to  surmise  that  it  is  upon  this  tal)le  the  family  of 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  33 

the  mission-house  is  acoiistomcd  to  take  its  meals. 
A  smaller  table  is  set  in  a  neighboring  corner,  and 
on  this  are  piled  a  few  magazines  and  papers,  none 
of  them,  however,  of  recent  date.  On  the  walls 
are  several  attractive  engravings,  all  in  frames  of 
home  construction  and  all  suggestive  of  refinement 
and  taste.  A  dozen  or  two  of  choice,  well-worn 
books  occupy  three  or  four  rows  of  enclosed  shelves, 
in  front  of  which  a  curtain  of  bright  cloth,  partly- 
drawn,  is  fastened.  On  two  other  and  smaller 
shelves  to  the  right  and  left  of  the  books  are  two 
slender  earthen  jars  in  which  are  tastefully  arranged 
native  ferns  and  wild  flowers.  Above  each  of  these 
is  a  group  of  photographs  tacked  upon  the  walls 
and  protected  from  the  flies  and  other  similar  ma- 
rauders by  thin  coverings  of  gauze.  The  other 
prints  are  also  protected  in  the  same  manner. 
Various  stools  and  chairs  of  native  workmanship, 
and  others,  again,  that  have  been  brought  from  the 
Cape,  are  arranged  about  the  room. 

In  a  few  moments  EUie,  assisted  by  old  Mamo- 
chisane,  who  acts  in  the  double  capacity  of  nurse 
to  Baby  Louise  and  cook  for  the  many  hungry 
mouths  of  the  mission-house,  has  upon  the  table 
what  is  assuredly  a  most  tempting  breakfast  for  a 
South  African  mission-station,  in  spite  of  the  time 
it  has  been  kept  waiting  and  of  Ellie's  repeated 
protestations  that  she  knows  that  it  is  altogether 
spoiled.  First  there  is  a  delicious  stew  of  antelope 
meat,  then  come  griddle-cakes  of  Indian  corn-meal, 
3 


34  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

butter,  baked  yams  and  a  jiorridj^e  of  well-beaten 
maize.  These,  together  with  milk  and  various 
kinds  of  fruits,  including  the  guava  and  avocado 
pear,  make  uj)  a  repast  that  Mould  certainly  tempt 
persons  far  less  hungry  than  the  two  who  now 
sit  down  to  it. 

"  Do  you  really  think  there  is  any  danger  to  be 
apprehended  from  the  Zulus?"  Captain  Murray 
asks  of  Mr.  Lillington  as,  the  missionary's  morning 
work  completed,  they,  together  with  Mr.  Cumming, 
are  sitting  u}X)n  the  veranda  in  the  shade  of  the 
vines. 

"  I  scarcely  know  how  to  answer  that  question,' 
Mr.  Lillington  replies,  with  the  perplexed  look 
that  has  not  for  a  moment  left  his  face  deepening 
into  one  of  intense  anxiety.  "Sometimes  I  think 
it  is  only  threatening  on  their  part,  and  again  I  am 
inclined  to  believe  that  they  will  really  ])ut  their 
threats  into  execution  this  time.  The  Matabele 
hate  Bubi ;  they  have  an  old  grudge  against  him 
which  grows  more  relentless  with  time.  They 
are  bitterly  jealous  of  the  present  prosperity  and 
successful  growth  of  the  village,  and  hate  me  as 
its  cause.  They  would  like  to  see  it  all  wiped 
out  of  existence.  And  yet  they  are  afraid  of  the 
fierce  chief,  for  his  record  in  war  is  well  established. 
As  long  as  the  chief  lives  I  am  inclined  to  believe 
they  will  not  make  the  attack,  unless  they  could 
gain  the  advantage  over  him  in  some  way.  Should 
anything  happen  to  Bubi,  however,"  he  adds  anx- 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  35 

iously,  "and  Sebubi  succeed  him,  there  is  no  question 
as  to  what  they  would  do  then,  for,  unfortunately, 
Sebubi  has  none  of  the  fine  traits  of  his  father,  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  is  not  only  weak,  but,  I  fear, 
cowardly." 

"  Too  bad  !"  Captain  Murray  exclaims.  "  But 
how  about  the  Boers?" 

"  Ah  !  there  is  where  I  apprehend  the  real  dan- 
ger. Though  the  Matabele  and  the  Boers  have 
long  been  enemies  at  heart,  and  the  latter  have 
never  forgiven  the  expulsion  of  their  great  chief 
from  the  Cashan  Mountains  and  the  occupancy  of 
them  by  the  Boers,  yet  they  will  unite  in  anything 
that  would  be  of  injury  to  Bubi  and  myself. 
Urged  on  by  the  Boers,  who  are  themselves  too 
weak  and  cowardly  to  lead  the  attack,  there  is  no 
telling  what  the  Zulus  may  do.  The  Boers  are 
both  unprincipled  and  revengeful.  The  seeds  of 
rebellion  are  fast  germinating  both  over  here  and 
in  the  Cashan  Mountains.  I  wouldn't  be  surprised 
at  any  moment  to  hear  of  them  rising  up  in  rebel- 
lion against  England.*  As  to  myself,  though  I 
am  not  an  Englishman,  they  hate  me  cordially.  I 
am  even  worse  than  an  Englishman  in  their  eyes : 
I  am  a  missionary,  and  the  Boers  declare  that  the 
best  way  to  treat  any  missionary  is  to  kill  him.f 

*  These  words  were  spoken  prior  to  the  Boer  rebellions  of 
1880  and  1881. 

t  A  Boer  commandant  was  once  heard  to  use  almost  identi- 
cally these  words. 


36  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

"  I  have  taught  the  people  the  shame  aiul  the 
sin  of  the  traffic  in  iiuinan  ffe.sh,"  Mr.  Lillington 
goes  on  in  a  voice  of  deep  feeling — "the  binding 
ont  of  their  weaker  brothel's  as  slaves  to  these  cruel 
taskmasters,  I  have  shown  them,  too,  the  advan- 
tages of  legitimate  trade.  I  have  gone  farther, 
and  endeavored  to  establish  a  line  of  trade  between 
here  and  the  coast.  I  have  thus  closed  against  the 
Boers  the  chief  source  of  their  ill-gotten  gains, 
they  having  formerly  obtained  even  the  most  val- 
uable of  the  wares  of  the  Bamangwatos  for  a  few 
trifling  ornaments  of  beads  and  brass  wire.  Bubi 
lias  also,  at  my  instigation,  cordially  welcomed  the 
English  traders  and  hunters  to  the  country.  Al- 
most every  week  they  pass  across  his  territory  un- 
molested. They  go  farther  north  and  west  of  this 
and  there  purchase  the  ivory  at  fair  prices.  This, 
perhaps  more  than  anything  else,  has  aroused  the 
Boers,  for  heretofore  they  have  obtained  the  tusks 
at  shameful  prices." 

"  It  is  too  bad  that  the  Boers  should  act  so,"  Mr. 
Gumming  says  after  a  few  moments  of  silence. 
"  Those  Cashan-Mountain  Boers  seem  to  be  the 
very  worst  of  their  class.  Over  in  Cape  Colony, 
now,  they  are  quite  different — in  fact,  are  an  hon- 
est, industrious  and  reasonable  people." 

"  Yes,  the  two  peoples  are  altogether  different, 
as  you  say,"  returns  Mr.  Lillington.  "  The  Cash- 
an-Mountain Boers  are  principally  those  who  have 
fled  from  English  law  on  various  pretexts,  and  have 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  37 

been  joined  by  English  deserters  and  every  other 
variety  of  bad  characters." 

"And  what  objection  can  these  Boers  have  to 
English  law?"  questions  Captain  Murray.  "  It  is 
certainly  liberal  and  just  enough  to  satisfy  any 
reasonable  people." 

"  Ah !  that  is  just  what  these  Boers  are  not," 
says  Mr.  Lillington — "  reasonable.  Their  great 
animosity  to  the  English  law  lies  in  the  fact 
that  it  makes  no  distinction  between  white  men 
and  black.  The  Boers  have  never  forgiven  the 
freeing  of  their  Hottentot  slaves.  Thus  they  seem 
determined  to  erect  themselves  into  a  'republic/ 
in  which  they  may  pursue  without  molestation 
what  they  term  'the  proper  treatment  of  the 
blacks.' " 

"  And  anything  else  but  this  I  dare  say  it  is." 

"You  are  right.  The  essential  element  of  this 
'proper  treatment'  in  the  eyes  of  the  Boers  is 
compulsory  unpaid  labor.  When  the  Boers  first 
took  possession  of  the  Cashan  Mountains  after 
having  driven  therefrom  the  cruel  and  tyrannical 
chief,  Mosilikatse,  the  poor  Bechuauas  rejoiced,  for 
they  looked  upon  the  white  men  in  the  light  of 
deliverers.  But  their  joy  was  soon  turned  into 
wailing  and  sorrow,  for  they  found  the  new-comers 
even  more  terrible  than  their  old  oppressor,  Mosili- 
katse. The  people  declared  that  Mosilikatse,  while 
cruel  to  his  enemies,  was  yet  kind  to  those  he  con- 
quered, but  that  the  Boers  destroyed  their  enemies 


38  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

and  inatle  slaves  of  their  friends.  Before  Living- 
stone c-anie  among  tiie  Bechnanas  the  Jioers  had 
reduced  the  greater  part  of  them  to  such  subjeclioa 
that  even  tiiose  tribes  which  still  retained  the  sem- 
blance of  independence  were  forced  to  perform  all 
the  labor  of  the  fields  for  these  cruel  masters,  such 
as  manuring  the  land,  weeding,  reaping,  building, 
making  dams  and  canals,  and  at  the  same  time 
being  compelled  to  support  themselves.  It  was  a 
brave  and  vigorous  war  Livingstone  waged  against 
these  tyrannical  oppressors,  and  that  he  suffered 
for  it  severely  the  records  show.  Twice  was  his 
house  entered  and  plundered  and  everything  he 
possessed  destroyed.  Again  and  again  was  his  life 
threatened.  But  he  was  too  courageous,  the  pur- 
pose of  his  heart  was  too  pure  and  steadfast,  to 
be  intimidated." 

"He  certainly  taught  them  many  lessons  which 
they  did  not  seem  likely  soon  to  forget,"  comments 
Mr.  Cumniing,  "and  his  sojourn  near  to  them  has 
had  this  good  effect :  it  has  made  them  less  bold 
and  self-assured  in  their  efibrts  to  enslave  the  poor 
ignorant  natives." 

"  Yet  they  have  by  no  means  ceased  the  enforce- 
ment of  their  horrible  levy  upon  human  flesh.  I 
myself  have  been  an  eye-witness — an  unwilling  and 
indignant  one,  you  may  suppose — of  Boers  coming 
to  a  village  and,  according  to  their  usual  custom, 
demanding  twenty  or  thirty  women  to  weed  their 
gardens,   and   have  seen    these  women   proceed  to 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  39 

the  scene  of  unrequited  toil,  carrying  their  own 
food  on  their  heads,  their  cliildren  on  their  backs 
and  the  instruments  of  labor  on  their  shoulders. 
Nor  have  the  Boers  any  wish  to  conceal  their  mean- 
ness in  thus  employing  unpaid  labor,  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  they  seem  to  glory  in  it,  frequently 
declaring  that  they  make  the  people  work  for  them 
in  consideration  of  allowing  them  to  live  in  their 
(the  Boers')  country." 

"  Horrible  !  It  is  a  wonder  the  vengeance  of  an 
outraged  Heaven  does  not  overtake  them." 

"  It  will  sooner  or  later.  God  does  not  slumber, 
neither  are  his  ears  deaf  to  the  cry  of  his  tortured  peo- 
ple. He  will  yet  avenge  their  woes. — if  not  now, 
then  in  his  own  good  time.  The  Boers  would  long 
ago  have  imposed  the  same  shameful  levy  upon  this 
station  but  for  my  presence  here.  They  had  done 
it  many  times  before  I  came,  and  the  poor  frightened 
people  dared  not  resist  them,  for  they  would  come 
with  their  great  roers,*  threatening  to  shoot  any 
one  who  opposed  them.  Even  Bubi  had  to  submit, 
brave  as  he  is,  for  the  station  had  no  firearms  then, 
and  his  people  were  not  what  they  are  at  this  time. 
Now  that  you  know  how  cordially  the  Boers  hate 
me,"  Mr.  Lilliugton  concludes,  "  you  can  easily  see 
what  probability  there  is  of  an  attack.  With  the 
help  of  the  Zulus  they  may  be  bold  enough  to 
attempt  it." 

"What  means  of  defence  have  you  in  case  of 
*  An  ungainly  gun  of  immense  calibre. 


40  CHILDREN   OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

an  attack?"  Captain  Murray  asks  with  much 
concern. 

"  Very  little  outside  the  cannon  Bubi  has  plant- 
ed upon  the  hill,"  Mr.  Lillington  returns,  with  the 
cloud  upon  his  brow  deepening;  "and  this  is  what 
worries  me :  in  case  of  the  attack  coming  from 
an  unexpected  direction  the  gun  would  be  ren- 
dered almost  useless.  I  am,  as  you  know,  a  man 
of  peace  :  it  is  a  requirement  of  my  calling.  I 
have  therefore  made  little,  if  any,  preparation  for 
war.  There  are  not  more  than  two  dozen  muskets 
in  all  the  station,  and  these  have  heretofore  been 
used  only  in  slaying  game  for  meat.  Never  in  all 
these  years  have  I  raised  my  hand  to  shed  man's 
blood  :  the  very  thought  of  such  a  proceeding  is 
revolting  to  me  in  the  extreme." 

"But  if  the  occasion  demanded  you  would  not 
hesitate  to  strike?"  Captain  Murray  questions  anx- 
iously. "  If  these  bloodthirsty  savages  do  put  their 
threats  into  execution  and  attack  the  station,  you 
will  be  prepared?" 

"Yas,  I  shall  begin  to-day,  this  very  hour,  to 
make  what  defence  I  can,  and  I  thank  you  cor- 
dially," turning  to  Captain  Murray,  "  for  the  extra 
guns  you  were  this  morning  so  kind  as  to  insist 
on  my  taking.  There  is  one  thing  in  our  favor," 
he  adds,  his  face  brightening  wonderfully  at  the 
thought  of  it :  *'  Bubi  is  a  soldier — a  great  soldier, 
in  fact,  though  a  savage — and  it  will  be  hard  even 
for  such  fighters  as  the  Zulus  to  overcome  him  in  free 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  41 

and  open  battle.  As  to  myself,  I  am  no  coward, 
but  my  soul  grows  sick  at  the  thought  of  dyeing 
my  hands  in  man's  blood.  However,  should  the 
worst  come,"  he  adds  with  a  determined  fire  in  his 
eyes,  "  then  I  shall  remember  my  helpless  children 
and  strike ;  and  may  God  forgive  me  the  blood  I 
must  spill !" 

"Would  it  not  be  best  to  send  to  the  Cape  for 
assistance?"  Mr.  Gumming  inquires. 

"  No;  I  do  not  wish  to  take  this  step.  It  looks 
too  much  like  premeditated  war,  and  this  is  the  very 
thing  I  want  to  avoid.  It  might  only  precipitate 
matters,  whereas,  after  all,  there  may  be  nothing 
in  these  threats." 

"  Well,  I  do  sincerely  hope  they  may  prove 
nothing  but  threats,"  Gaptain  Murray  says  earn- 
estly. "  I  do  wish  Gumming,  Inkoosi  and  I  could 
stay  with  you  until  this  matter  is  definitely  settled. 
You  would  find  us  no  mean  fighters  in  case  of  a 
Zulu  attack." 

"I  am  convinced  of  that,  and  deeply  regret  that 
you  must  leave  us  so  soon.  But  before  you  go, 
even  to-day,  if  you  will  not  be  otherwise  engaged, 
I  want  you  and  Mr.  Gumming  to  give  me  your 
advice  in  regard  to  some  additional  defences  I  pur- 
pose erecting.  I  shall  also  suggest  to  Bubi  the 
advisability  of  putting  sentinels  on  duty  during 
both  the  day  and  night. 

"Ah  !  here  comes  the  chief  now,"  Mr.  Lilling- 
ton  resumes  a  moment  later.      "And  Mopane  is 


42  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

with  him,  too!  I  do  wisli  l^ul)i  would  not  keep 
siu'h  close  company  with  tiiut  .sorcerer,  or  rain- 
maker, as  he  is  called.  It  serves  only  to  draw 
poor  Bubi  farther  and  farther  back  into  the  net 
of  superstitions  from  which  I  have  tried  to  res- 
cue him. — Well,  Bui)i,  what  is  it  now?"  Mr. 
Lillington  asks  kindly  as,  having  greeted  the 
chief,  he  motions  him  to  a  seat  upon  the  other 
end  of  the  wooden  bench  he  is  occupying.  As  to 
Mopane,  he  has  taken  up  his  position  some  dis- 
tance away,  and  stands  there  glowering  upon  the 
party  with  a  most  rebellious  and  discontented  scowl 
upon  his  forbidding  countenance. 

"  The  soul  of  Bubi  is  troubled,"  the  chief  says 
in  the  native  language  as,  slowly  rising  from  the 
bench,  he  stands  before  them,  his  tall,  erect  form 
looking  taller  and  more  powerful  still  in  the  close- 
fitting  scarlet  uniform  he  wears.  "It  has  known 
no  rest,  no  sleep,  since  the  message  of  the  good 
father"  (the  name  by  which  Mr.  Lillington  is 
known  throughout  the  station)  "  has  reached  him. 
It  said  to  Bubi  that  his  old  enemies,  the  Matabele, 
were  again  upon  his  path — that  the  axes  had  already 
been  whetted  to  drink  the  blood  of  his  people. 
That  is  true,  my  father.  They  even  now  creep 
through  the  bushes,  and  from  the  hills  watch  the 
smoke  of  the  fires  that  burn  within  Bubi's  vil- 
lage. They  are  dogs,  they  are  snakes ;  they  strike 
not  in  the  daytime,  nor  yet  when  Bubi  awaits 
them  with  the  spears  of  his  people  sharpened  for 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  43 

battle.  They  will  not  come  up  the  hill  where  the 
great  gun  is ;  they  will  not  seek  to  enter  by  the 
straight  entrance  where  Bubi's  people  can  see  them. 
If  they  were  men  and  soldiers,  and  did  but  give 
us  open  fight,  neither  Bubi  nor  his  bold  warriors 
have  aught  of  fear  for  the  end.  But  they  will 
come  by  night  when  my  people  lie  dreaming  in 
their  huts,  not  knowing  of  the  danger ;  or,  if  by 
day,  then  when  they  have  the  hoe  or  the  plough 
wnthin  their  hands,  and  not  the  gun  or  the  spear. 
The  dog  of  an  enemy  will  creep  upon  them  as  they 
are  at  work  in  the  fields.  They  will  crouch  for  the 
spring  when  the  back  of  my  people  is  bent  over  the 
rows"  of  maize  and  cane.  O  friend  of  my  heart's 
full  confidence  !  you  know  not  the  treachery  of  the 
Matabeie,  cowards  all  of  them  when  it  comes  man 
to  man.  I  know  not  how  to  meet  this  blow  that 
will  be  given  in  the  dark.  I  know  not  to  which 
point  to  go  and  there  make  ready  for  the  spears  of 
Mosilikatse.  If  I  did,  there  would  be  an  end  to 
all  the  trouble  that  now  gnaws  like  the  hyena  at 
Bubi's  heart.  Then  would  Bubi  prepare  for  bat- 
tle strong  and  jubilant ;  then  would  the  chief's 
bold  warriors  chant  the  death-song  of  the  Mata- 
beie dogs ;  then  would  their  worthless  carcasses 
be  given  as  food  to  the  vultures  of  the  air.  Yes, 
that  would  be  the  end,  for  Bubi  is  both  a  chief 
and  a  warrior." 

At  these  words  Bubi  draws  his  form  still  more 
erect,  while  his  small  black  eyes  flash  and  his  fine 


44  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

open  face  has  an  expression  wliicli  shows  plainly 
that  he  feel.s  deeply  every  word  he  has  just  uttered. 

"  O  friend  of  my  heart's  best  love  !"  he  breaks 
forth  again,  addressing  Mr.  Lillington,  "  hear  the 
plaint  of  Bubi,  and  bend  to  him  the  ejir  that  will 
hearken  to  his  cry.  There  stands  Mopaue,  the 
rain-maker  of  Bubi's  j)Cople.  He  it  is  whose 
mighty  magic  can  bring  rain  from  the  clouds ;  he 
it  is  who  knows  the  things  that  are  hidden  from 
the  eyes  of  others;  he  it  is  who  by  his  power  can 
reveal  to  Bubi  where  the  Matabele  are  to  strike.  O 
my  father,  but  speak  the  word  that  will  let  Bubi 
seek  the  aid  of  Mopane  in  this  matter.  Say  that 
the  magic  of  Mopane  may  be  wrought  before  the 
eyes  of  Bubi,  that  he  may  read  therein  not  only 
the  fate  of  himself  and  of  his  people,  but  also  of 
the  good  father,  the  man  who  talks  to  him  of  the 
great  God  on  high,  and  of  the  good  father's  chil- 
dren. Only  this  once,  my  father,  only  this  once, 
and  Bubi  will  ask  it  no  more." 

"  Bubi,"  Mr.  Lillington  says  kindly  as,  rising, 
he  places  his  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  now 
much-agitated  chief,  "listen  to  me,  my  friend. 
The  arts  of  Mopane  are  but  as  the  featlier  that 
flies  in  the  air  or  as  the  pebbles  at  the  bottom  of 
the  rushing  river.  They  are  naught — naught  but 
as  idle  words  spoken  for  their  sound,  naught  but 
the  tricks  of  vain  and  sinful  jugglery.  He  can 
tell  you  no  more  of  the  plans  and  intentions  of  the 
Matabele  than  can  I — nay,  not  so    much.     Have 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  45 

nothing  to  do  with  him,  Biibi,  nor  with  his  hurt- 
ful magic.  Seek  help  and  enlightenment  alone 
from  the  great  God  on  high,  who  only  can  aid 
you.  Come  to  me  this  evening,  just  before  ser- 
vices at  the  kotla,  and  we  will  both  pray  to  him 
together.  His  wisdom  is  above  all  others,  and  it 
will  direct  us." 

During  all  the  time  that  Mr.  Lillington  has  been 
speaking  to  Bubi  the  eyes  of  Mopane  have  been 
upon  the  missionary's  face  with  a  look  of  the  most 
deadly  hate.  He  is  a  villainous-looking  man,  a 
few  years  older  than  Bubi.  He  is  nothing  like  so 
tall,  and  there  is  a  droop  in  one  of  his  shoulders 
that  gives  him  a  somewhat  misshapen  appearance. 
He  has  little  hair  upon  his  head,  with  the  exception 
of  a  few  tufts  near  the  top.  His  face  sinks  in  at 
the  nose,  which  is  broad  and  flat,  while  his  chin 
and  lips  project  to  a  considerable  distance.  Upon 
his  cheeks  and  forehead  there  are  innumerable 
seams  and  scars  which  add  to  the  villainousness 
of  his  looks.  He  is  almost  nude,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  skin  of  some  animal  fastened  about 
the  w^aist  and  which  falls  nearly  to  the  knees. 
About  his  person  are  a  quantity  of  charms  and 
little  sacks  of  "  medicine,"  while  he  carries  in  his 
hand  a  whip  made  of  antelopes'  tails. 

As  Mopane  goes  away  with  Bubi  he  turns  his 
head  once  more  to  give  Mr.  Lillington  a  look  that 
makes  even  Mr.  Gumming,  hardened  old  hunter  as 
he  is,  shudder. 


46  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

"  What  a  terrible  counteuance  tliat  fellow  has !" 
he  exclaims  as  the  line  of  palisades  shuts  off 
Mopane's  retreating  figure,  "  I  do  not  know 
when  I  have  ever  seen  a  more  wicked  one.  I 
would  hate  to  be  in  his  power.  I  may  be  mis- 
taken," turning  to  the  missionary  as  he  speaks, 
"  but  I  should  say  he  dislikes  you  cordially." 

"Unfortunately,  he  does,"  Mr.  Lillington  admits, 
"  and,  to  be  candid  with  you,  I  deeply  regret  it.  I 
have  tried  in  every  way  to  appease  him  and  to  win 
him  from  his  superstitious  practices,  not  only  for 
the  good  of  his  people,  but  for  his  own  good  as 
well.  But  he  seems  to  have  no  kindly  impulses 
whatever,  no  generous  feelings,  no  tenderness  of 
heart.  He  scoffs  at  all  religious  services,  and  tries 
to  oppose  me  in  everything  I  undertake  for  the 
benefit  of  the  village.  If  I  could  but  reach  his 
stubborn  heart  in  one  little  impressible  spot,  I 
should  have  some  hope  of  finally  bringing  him  to 
Christ.  But  he  seems  utterly  abandoned  to  his 
wicked  course,  and  as  utterly  determined  to  do  all 
he  can  to  weaken  my  influence  among  the  natives. 
In  this  direction,  however,  I  am  glad  to  say  that 
he  has  very  little  success  now,  though  he  did  have 
much  at  first.  He  has  been  a  great  rain-maker  and 
sorcerer  in  his  day,  even  more  looked  up  to  than  the 
chief  himself,  and  his  present  displacement  from 
the  high  pedestal  he  occupied  he  very  properly 
attributes  to  me—  though  if  he  would  but  look  at 
it  in  the  right  spirit,  he  would  see  that  I  have  in- 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  47 

teudt'd  it  ouly  for  the  best — and  he  hates  me 
accordingly." 

"  It  is  too  bad,"  Captain  Murray  says.  "  Such 
a  man  is  apt  to  breed  some  discord  even  among  the 
best  inclined  natives.  What  a  pity  you  could  not 
get  rid  of  him  !  He  hates  you  so  that  I  would  not 
risk  him  for  making  his  own  price  with  the  Zulus. 
He  would  as  soon  pilot  them  into  the  village  as 
not,  even  at  the  risk  of  seeing  his  own  people 
massacred." 

"  I  must  warn  Bubi  against  him  more  strongly 
than  ever,"  Mr.  Lillington  says  thoughtfully.  "  At 
any  rate,  whatever  happens,  Mopane  must  not  be 
put  on  duty  as  a  sentinel." 


CHAPTER   III. 

"  He  is  our  lielp  in  time  of  trouble." 

THAT  evening,  as  the  members  of  the  family 
with  their  two  guests  are  at  the  early  supper 
that  is  one  of  the  established  features  of  the  mis- 
sion-station, the  two  youths,  Pierce  Lillington  and 
Cuunyngham  Blandford,  return  from  their  hunt- 
ing expedition.  They  are  fine,  manly  lads — one 
of  them  almost  a  young  man,  in  fact — and  their 
pleasant  manners  and  polite  bearing  speak  well 
for  the  home-training  both  have  received. 

Cuunyngham  is  the  older  of  the  two  by  three 
years  and  a  half,  and  is  nearly  twenty  years  of  age. 
He  is  of  a  much  stouter  build  than  his  cousin,  has 
a  strong,  good  face  with  a  high,  broad  brow,  pleas- 
ant blue  eyes  and  a  kindly  smile  that  wins  all  hearts. 
Pierce  is  smaller  and  darker,  with  a  brown  skin, 
tanned  even  browner  than  is  its  wont  by  the  hot 
African  suns,  and  with  a  pair  of  very  keen  and  rest- 
less dark  eyes  that  seem  unwilling  to  remove  their 
gaze  until  whatever  it  rests  upon  has  been  thor- 
oughly mastered. 

Both  boys  as  they  come  into  the  dining-room 
seem  filled  with  some  unusual  excitement  that  it  is 
hard  to  suppress.     Cuunyngham  is  the  first  to  give 

48 


A   STORY  OF  AFRICA.  49 

the  clue  to  this  state  of  feelings  as  the  room  is 
readied. 

"You  could  never  guess,  uncle,  and  all  of  you," 
he  says  betweeu  quick,  short  breaths,  "  what  we 
have  found,  and  right  here  almost  at  home,  too." 

"  A  den  of  young  lions,  perhaps,  or  a  herd  of 
spring-boh  in  the  almost  dried-up  channel  of  the 
stream,"  his  uncle  says  at  random. 

"  I  know,"  suddenly  exclaims  JNIarvin,  Mr.  Lil- 
lington's  remaining  son,  and  a  wide-awake,  enter- 
prising little  fellow  of  ten :  "  it  is  an  eagle's  nest. 
I  saw  the  old  one  flying  around  the  basalt  cliff  last 
week,  and  I  just  knew  it  was  up  there  somewhere." 

"  Wrong,"  says  Pierce,  coming  to  Cunnyngham's 
aid,  for  he  sees  that  he  is  almost  too  much  excited 
to  speak  clearly.  "  It  is  something  that  has  to  do 
with  the  basalt  rocks,  Master  Marvin,  but  it  isn't 
an  eagle's  nest." 

"  Then  what  can  it  be  ?"  exclaims  Miss  Hen- 
rietta at  this  point,  letting  her  knife  drop  in 
her  excitement.  "I  do  wish,  Pierce,  that  you'd 
hurry  up  and  tell  us,  and  not  keep  us  waiting 
so  long." 

"  Well,  then,"  answers  Pierce  promptly,  "  it  is 
a  cave." 

"  '  A  cave '  ?"  echo  more  than  one  voice. 

"Yes,  a  cave,  and  just  the  grandest  one  you  ever 
saw.  It  is  nearly  a  mile  long  and  at  its  narrowest 
place  is  over  fifty  feet  wide.  And  there  is  no  end 
to  the  l)eautiful  stalactites. — Oh,  Ellie,  they  would 

4 


50  (IULDREN  of   THK  KALAHARI: 

just  make  your  eyes  dance  to  see  them  ;  and  there 
is  water  all  through  it." 

"  Why,  wliere  can  it  be  ?"  Hope  asks,  now  as 
much  excited  as  Henrietta  and  tlie  boys. 

"  About  tiiree-quarters  of  a  mile  from  here,  just 
to  the  right  of  the  taller  of  the  basalt  hills,  and 
beneath  a  ledge  that  projects  from  the  left-hand 
cliif  in  the  deepest  and  wildest  part  of  the 
gorge." 

"And  how  did  you  come  to  find  it?"  Mr.  Lil- 
liugton  questions,  now  much  interested. 

"  Pierce  and  I  left  the  men  when  within  a  mile 
of  the  village,"  Cunnyngham  here  speaks  up,  "and 
went  by  the  basalt  hill,  as  we  were  very  anxious  to 
procure  some  of  the  prettier  of  the  detached  frag- 
ments in  order  to  make  Ellie  and  Hope  the  ink- 
stands we  had  long  promised  them.  While  hunt- 
ing about  the  lava-beds  we  suddenly  surprised  a 
small  herd  of  elands,  and  among  them  several  ex- 
ceedingly fine  spring-bok.  As  it  was  something 
of  an  unusual  sight  so  near  the  mission-station,  we 
determined  to  give  them  chase  in  order  to  find  out 
their  haunt,  if  nothing  more.  They  took  at  once 
to  the  almost  dry  channel  of  the  stream,  and  headed 
off  up  the  gorge  as  fast  as  their  slim  legs  would 
carry  them.  Finally,  even  with  our  best  running, 
they  soon  got  out  of  sight,  with  the  exception  of 
two  of  the  bucks,  who  suddenly  swung  to  the  right 
and  plunged  through  a  seemingly  almost  impene- 
trable thicket  just  beneath  an  overhanging  ledge  of 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  51 

rock.  We  had  no  idea  we  could  follow  them,  and 
hence  were  much  surprised  when  we  found  a  way 
around  the  thicket,  and  not  only  that,  but  an  opeu- 
iuo;  in  the  cliff.  We  had  to  wade  some  distance  in  the 
water,  however,  before  we  found  it.  Our  surprise 
increased  more  and  more  as  we  found  ourselves  in 
a  tunnel-like  aperture  through  which  fully  ten  men 
could  have  walked  abreast.  We  felt  at  once  that 
we  were  in  a  cave.  Fortunately,  we  had  a  box  of 
matches  with  us,  and  we  explored  our  find  to  some 
extent.  We  lost  sight  of  the  bucks,  of  course,  for 
we  had  forgotten  all  else  in  the  discovery  of  the 
cave." 

"  No  one  would  ever  think  of  there  being  a  cave 
at  that  place,"  says  Pierce  at  this  point,  "  the  en- 
trance is  so  cunningly  hidden  by  the  overhanging 
cliff.  If  we  hadn't  waded  up  the  stream  as  we  did, 
we  never  would  have  found  it.  Why,  the  bed  of 
the  stream  is  a  natural  roadway,"  he  concludes  after 
a  moment's  pause,  "  and  there  would  be  nothing  to 
hinder  a  big  wagon  from  getting  into  the  cave  by 
a  little  cleariug  away  of  the  bushes  around  its 
mouth." 

A  strange  expression  comes  into  Mr.  Lillington's 
face  at  these  words.  He  opens  his  lips  to  speak, 
checks  himself,  and  then  adds  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "Well,  who  knows,  boys,  but  that  this  cave 
of  yours  may  yet  prove  a  lucky  find?  At  any 
rate,  we  will  go  to-morrow  or  next  day  and  see 
more  of  it.     In   the   mean   time,"    lowering   his 


52  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

voice,  "I  would  advise  kcepinji^  its  discovery  a 
secret  even  from  Mazika  and  Pitsane." 

"  Yon  look  tired,  Miss  EUie,"  Captain  Murray- 
says  with  much  solicitude  as,  half  an  hour  later,  the 
supper-things  having  all  been  cleared  away,  she  is 
standing  by  one  of  the  little  windows  gazing  wist- 
fully out  to  wliere  the  tall  grass  is  just  beginning 
to  stir  gently  beneath  the  line  of  stately  banian 
trees.  "Tiiere  is  a  fresh  breeze  springing  up  and 
the  evening  promises  to  be  delightful,  even  for  this 
climate.     Will  you  not  come  for  a  walk  ?" 

"I  would  like  so  much  to  do  so,"  she  says  with 
the  wistfulncss  deepening,  "  but  it  will  soon  be  time 
for  the  services  at  the  kotla,  and  I  do  not  like  to 
miss  them." 

"  Never  mind  the  services  at  the  kotla  this  even- 
ing, my  child,"  her  father's  voice  at  this  moment 
says  near  her.  "  You  are  tired,  I  know.  There  is 
so  much  for  your  willing  hands  to  do.  The  fresh 
air  will  revive  you.  Go  with  the  captain  for  a 
walk.  You  can  return  in  time  for  family  prayer 
and  to  see  Baby  Louise  off  to  her  nest.  Until  then 
Maniochisane  can  attend  to  her." 

Thus  adjured,  Ellie  no  longer  hesitates,  but, 
throwing  a  light  wool  wrap  over  her  head  and 
about  her  shoulders,  goes  down  the  walk  beside 
Captain  Murray.  Although  it  is  still  daylight,  the 
full  moon  has  arisen.  Here  and  there  in  the  deep- 
ening blue  of  the  vault  above  them  a  star  is  begin- 
Diug  to  show  its  faint  light,  and,  as  it  grows  bolder 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  53 

and  brighter,  to  twinkle  cheerily.  The  soft  wind 
stirs  gently  through  the  long  fronds  of  the  pahns, 
giving  out  from  them  a  faint  clicking  sound  that, 
despite  its  monotony,  is  not  altogether  unmusical. 
All  the  air  about  them  is  laden  with  the  perfume 
of  many  sweet-growing  things. 

They  pass  out  into  the  principal  street  of  tlie 
village.  Many  hurrying  forms  meet  them  as  they 
go  onward,  some  in  groups,  others  again  singly. 
All  greet  them  pleasantly,  and  more  than  one  pair 
of  eyes  turn  to  gaze  gratefully  after  the  slender 
form  of  the  missionary's  daughter  as  she  walks 
beside  her  tall  companion.  Men,  women  and  chil- 
dren all  alike  adore  the  quiet,  gentle  girl  whose 
warm  heart  has  a  place  for  the  woes  of  each  and 
every  one,  whose  kindly  voice  has  ever  an  encour- 
aging word,  and  whose  firm,  soft  hand  has  held  to 
the  last  that  of  more  than  one  soul  going  out  into 
the  darkness. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  miss  the  services  at  the  kotla," 
Ellie  says  at  length,  regretfully,  "  and  I  fear  some 
of  the  blacks  will  not  understand  it.  They  seem 
to  gaze  after  me  as  though  they  can  scarcely  realize 
that  it  is  I,  and  going  away  from  the  kotla,  instead 
of  toward  it." 

"  I  do  not  think  that  is  the  reason  they  gaze 
after  you,"  Captain  Murray  begins,  then  checks 
himself,  for  he  has  read  this  fine,  honest  nature  suf- 
ficiently to  be  well  aware  that  anything  approaching 
the  least  bit  to  flattery  will  be  very  distasteful  to 


64  CHILDREN   OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

her.  Tlie  next  moment  lie  adroitly  changes  the 
subject  to  one  he  knows  well  she  loves  to  talk 
upon. 

"  Your  father's  whole  soul  seems  wrapped  up  in 
this  place  and  this  people,"  he  says  at  length. 

"  Oh,  indeed  it  is,"  she  cries,  her  eyes  glowing. 
"Father  is  at  heart  a  true  missionary :  I  think  he 
was  born  for  the  work.  I  do  not  believe  he  would 
change  it  for  the  highest  cidling  on  earth  ;  and  why 
should  he?  Wherever  he  should  be  and  whatever 
he  should  do,  he  would  be  a  Christian,  and  as  the 
salvation  of  men  ought  to  be,  and  is,  the  chief  aim 
and  desire  of  every  true  Christian,  what  nobler  lot 
after  all,  could  be  his  than  this?" 

"Are  you  yourself  satisfied  here?"  Captain  Mur- 
ray asks.  "  Do  you  not  sometimes  long  for  the 
civilized  world  and  for  a  few  at  least  of  the  many 
pleasant  things  found  there?" 

"  Oh  no,"  she  says  vehemently,  as  though  some- 
how fearing  that  he  may  find  it  a  little  hard  to 
believe  her.  "  I  care  nothing  for  the  world  of 
which  you  speak,  nor  for  the  things  of  that  world. 
I  liave  never  for  one  moment  in  all  my  life  craved 
any  other  life  away  from  this — any  other  earthly 
life,  I  mean,"  hastily  correcting  herself  "  Why 
should  I,  when  it  is  all  I  have  ever  known  ?  Some- 
times I  have  thought  it  would  be  very  pleasant  to 
meet  other  faces  besides  these  rough  black  ones  I 
see  every  day,  to  hear  other  and  more  cultivated 
voices,  and  to  see  a  few  at  least  of  the  many  beau- 


A  STORY   OF  AFRICA.  65 

tiful  things  of  which  I  have  heard.  It  has  often 
grieved  ray  father  deeply  that  he  has  not  been  able 
to  send  me  back  to  his  old  home  in  the  States  to  be 
educated,  but  I  have  never  minded  it  at  all.  My 
mother,"  her  voice  breaking  here  in  spite  of  the 
brave  effort  she  makes,  "  has  taught  me  all  of  the 
best  that  I  would  have  learned  there.  As  to  the 
rest,  I  feel  no  deprivation  in  having  missed  it." 

"  You  are  a  brave,  true  girl,"  Captain  Murray 
says  involuntarily,  "  and  you  deserve  all  the  happi- 
ness Heaven  can  send  you.  God  grant  that  there 
may  be  no  cruel  awakening  from  this  quiet,  peace- 
ful life  into  which  you  seem  to  have  grown  so 
fixedly !" 

"  You  speak  like  one  Avho  has  sad  forebodings," 
she  says  anxiously.  "  Tell  me,"  turning  to  place 
her  hand  upon  his  arm  in  her  earnestness  :  "  you 
really  do  not  think  there  is  any  trouble  to  be  appre- 
hended from  the  Zulus  and  the  Boers?  Oh,  surely, 
surely,  God  will  not  let  such  cruel  and  wicked  in- 
tentions dwell  long  in  their  hearts.  But  if  they  do 
attack  us,"  she  concludes  after  a  moment's  silent 
communing,  "I  feel  that  God's  arm  will  be  about 
us." 

"One  can  never  tell  how  matters  of  this  kind 
will  turn  out,"  Captain  Murray  says  at  length  in 
answer  to  her  anxious  questioning.  "  The  Zulus 
are  fierce,  the  Boers  treacherous  in  the  extreme, 
and  both  seem  determined.  But  keep  your  faith 
strong  in  the  all-powerful  Arm,  Miss  Ellie.     I  am 


5G  (JlIILDRKy   UF   THE   KM. A 11  Mil: 

not  a  professed  Christian,  as  yuii  know,  but  I  be- 
lieve firmly  in  the  rulings  of  an  alniiirhty  Power 
and  the  justness  of  his  decrees,  though  they  may 
seem  at  the  time  far  from  just  to  us." 

"But,  best  of  all,"  she  adds  earnestly,  with  her 
eloquent  eyes  turned  full  upon  him,  "he  is  the 
God  of  the  trusting  and  the  Father  of  his  children. 
Oh,  Captain  INIurray,"  she  goes  on  j)U'a(lingly,  "do 
not  say  that  you  are  not  a  professed  Christian — 
do  not  make  such  an  admission.  Do  not  acknowl- 
edge merely  a  belief  in  God,  a  firm  conviction  of 
his  justness  and  power,  but  say  that  you  love  him 
— love  him  because  he  is  God,  love  him  because 
he  first  loved  you." 

"  It  is  indeed  hard  to  resist  so  eloquent  a  plea, 
and  from  such  a  source,"  Captain  Murray  says  in 
an  unsteady  voice  and  with  his  eyes  turned  reso- 
lutely away  from  the  earnest  gray  ones  that  are 
seeking  to  read  their  expression.  "But  you  must 
make  what  allowance  you  can  for  me,  Miss  EUie. 
Give  me  time  to  put  to  myself  the  points  you  have 
put  to  me,  and  perhaps  I  may  then  give  you  a  dif- 
ferent answer." 

Seeing  how  deeply  moved  he  is,  Ellie  delicately 
refrains  from  speaking  further  upon  the  subject, 
but  in  her  heart  there  is  borne  upward  with  the 
incense  of  the  night  a  silent  prayer  tiiat  this  splen- 
did man  may  yet  be  led  to  be  a  bold,  brave  soldier 
for  Christ. 

The  daylight    has  now  entirely  faded   from  the 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  57 

sky,  aud  the  moonlight,  which  iu  this  latitude  is 
always  exceedingly  bright,  is  flooding  everything 
with  its  full  deep  radiance.  Even  the  crests  of 
the  distant  mountains  stand  out  distinctly  against 
the  sky.  Here  and  there,  dotted  about  upon  the 
brow  of  the  hill,  are  the  glowing  eyes  of  a  fire  not 
yet  out  beneath  the  ovens  at  the  roar  of  the  huts. 
In  the  patch  of  moonlight  between  two  thick-foli- 
aged  Thibet  trees  a  group  of  little  pickaninnies  are 
rolling  about  upon  each  other  in  great  delight.  Au 
old  woman  who  is  watching  them  is  crooning  to  her- 
self the  guttural  words  of  a  song  that  seems  to  please 
her  very  much,  to  judge  by  the  way  she  applauds 
herself  between  the  stanzas. 

Guided  by  the  unusually  bright  glow  of  an  eye 
of  fire  that  gleams  upon  them  from  a  small  grove 
of  palms,  El  lie  and  Captain  Murray  leave  the  main 
street  they  are  following  and  come  upon  a  pair  of 
native  blacksmiths  who  are  busy  with  coals,  anvil 
and  bellows,  and  all  upon  the  ground. 

"  I  suppose  they  find  it  pleasauter  out  in  the 
open  air  than  they  do  in  the  shop,"  Ellie  says  as 
they  draw  near  the  line  of  fire.  "  Oh,  it  is  only 
old  Kamati  and  Botla,"  she  adds  as  they  reach  the 
place — "two  harmless,  well-meaning  fellows  who 
never  have  been  able  to  get  used  to  the  improved 
methods  aud  tools  introduced  by  my  father,  but 
who  prefer  the  old  way." 

The  two  blacksmiths  are  kneeling  upon  the 
ground  in  front  of  a  fire  of  charcoal  that  is  lying 


58  CHILDREN  OF  TIIK  KALAHARI: 

in  a  little  hollow  that  is  scooped  out  of  the  earth. 
One  of  them  is  workinti;  a  most  primitive-looking 
bellows,  antl  the  other  is  pounding  a  piece  of  metal 
upon  an  anvil  equally  as  rude  and  primitive  as  the 
bellows.  The  bellows  consists  of  two  wooden  cyl- 
inders about  a  foot  and  a  half  in  diameter.  These 
cylinders  are  hollowed  to  the  depth  of  five  or  six 
inches  and  covered  over  with  two  tanned  goat- 
skins. To  the  skins  are  attached  two  handles 
about  two  feet  long  and  from  a  half  to  three-quar- 
ters of  an  inch  in  thickness.  By  a  rapid  upward 
and  downward  movement  of  these  handles  a  current 
of  air  is  produced.  This  has  full  play  upon  the 
charcoal  through  two  hollow  wooden  tubes  which 
are  attached  to  the  cylinders  at  the  bottom  and 
furnished  with  muzzles  of  clay. 

The  anvil  is  only  about  a  foot  and  a  half  in 
height  and  from  eight  to  ten  inches  broad.  It  is 
shaped  somewhat  like  a  cone  with  the  base  upward. 
The  hammer  is  another  cone-shaped  instrument, 
only  much  slenderer  and  not  quite  so  long. 

"  Good-evening,  Kamati,"  Ellie  says  pleasantly. 
"  Busy  at  work,  I  see  ?" 

"Yes,  missy.  There  are  a  hundred  great  spikes 
to  be  made  by  morning,  and  Kamati  must  do  his 
share." 

Leaving  the  blacksmith,  the  saunterers  return 
to  the  main  street  and  pass  down  the  slope  of  the 
hill  toward  the  chief  entrance.  A  hushed  silence 
seems  now  to  have  settled  down  upon  everything. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  59 

Even  the  voices  of  the  negroes  singing  at  tlie 
kotla,  the  echoes  of  which  now  reacli  them,  have 
a  far-away,  eerie  sound,  a  mournful  cadence  that 
causes  Ellie  to  shiver  in  spite  of  herself. 

They  have  now  reached  tlie  slope  of  the  hill  and 
are  walking  toward  the  main  entrance.  The  heavy 
gate  is  closed,  and  on  two  rude  platforms  built 
against  the  rough  stone  wall  that  leads  away  on 
either  side  the  same  number  of  sentries  are  placed, 
one  upon  each.  They  are  in  a  sitting  position, 
while  just  in  front  of  them  are  small  circular  holes 
some  four  or  five  inches  in  diameter,  through  which 
they  are  constantly  peering.  Every  now  and  then 
they  raise  themselves  for  an  outlook  over  the  top 
of  the  wall,  but  not  before  they  have  first  cau- 
tiously peered  through  the  port-holes. 

"I  see  my  father  has  his  people  on  guard  al- 
ready," Ellie  says  with  an  unconscious  sigh.  "  Oh, 
I  do  hope  there  will  be  no  necessity  for  war ;  it  is 
so  dreadful !" 

Captain  Murray  does  not  answer  right  away. 
He  is  busily  engaged  in  examining  the  wall  and 
the  gate. 

"  It  seems  to  me.  Miss  Ellie,"  he  says  after  a 
moment's  silence,  "that  the  fastenings  of  the  gate 
are  not  such  as  they  should  be.  It  might  easily 
be  thrown  open  by  one  man,  especially  if  the  sen- 
tries were  off  their  guard.  It  is  much  too  light, 
though  it  seems  so  large.  If  I  were  your  father 
I  would  remedy  the  matter  right  away :  the  delay 


60  CniLDREy   OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

of  a  day  may  be  dangerous.  The  walls,  too,  need 
streiigthening  in  one  or  two  i)Iaces.  And  what 
can  he  be  about  to  allow  the  thorns  and  bushes  to 
grow  so  thickly  around  the  mouth  of  the  ditch  as 
completely  to  hide  it  from  view?  AV^hy,  enemies, 
even  in  strong  numbers,  might  lie  concealed  therein 
without  his  suspecting  it,  especially  if  they  crept 
to  their  places  in  the  darkness  of  the  night." 

"  Please  speak  to  father  about  it  all.  Captain 
Murray,  when  you  return  to  the  house,"  Ellie 
says  a  little  anxiously.  "  I  know  he  will  be  glad 
to  receive  any  suggestions  from  you,  and  will  act 
upon  them,  I  feel  assured," 

When  the  matter  is  brought  to  the  knowledge  of 
Mr.  Lillington,  he  expresses  himself  as  very  grate- 
ful for  the  warning  and  suggestions,  and  says  at 
once,  "I  shall  attend  to  those  things  just  as  soon 
as  we  are  through  with  the  weak  places  in  the 
south  wall.  Somehow,  I  cannot  help  thinking," 
he  adds  a  little  apologetically,  "that  the  attack 
will  come  from  that  direction.  At  any  rate,  it  is 
the  weakest  place  of  all,  and  I  dare  not  leave  it 
as  it  is." 

"  But  do  not  forget  that  the  gate  and  the  ditch 
are  equally  as  urgent,"  Captain  Murray  warns 
him. 

The  good  missionary's  face  grows  deej)ly  shad- 
owed as  he  ponders  over  the  many  perplexing 
things  that  trouble  him.  It  is  truly  a  time  of 
much  anxiety  and  care. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  61 

That  his  heart  is  sorely  troubled  and  his  mind 
filled  with  many  painful  and  anxious  forebodings 
his  voice  and  his  face  give  full  evidence  as  in  trem- 
ulous tones  he  reads  the  psalm  for  the  evening : 

"  Lord,  how  are  they  increased  that  trouble  me  ! 
Many  are  they  that  rise  up  against  me.  Many 
there  be  which  say  of  my  soul,  There  is  no  help 
for  him  in  God.  But  thou,  O  Lord,  art  a  shield 
for  me,  my  glory  and  the  lifter-up  of  my  head." 

His  voice  is  too  shaken  with  emotion  to  lead  the 
evening  hymn,  so  Ellie's  clear,  sweet  voice  takes 
it  up  instead : 

"  Saviour,  breathe  an  evening  blessing 
Ere  repose  our  spirits  seal ; 
Sin  and  want  we  come  confessing ; 
Thou  canst  save  and  thou  canst  heal." 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"  Ilis  tender  mercy  is  over  all  his  works." 

ABOUT  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  the 
foHovving  day  Mr.  Lillington  and  tlie  two 
youths,  Cuunyngham  and  Pierce,  make  an  expe- 
dition to  the  cave  in  the  gorge  in  order  to  explore 
it  still  farther.  They  descend  the  channel  of  the 
stream  by  way  of  a  little  footpath  that  leads  along 
beside  the  row  of  banian  trees  just  beyond  the 
mission-station,  and  thence  to  the  verge  of  the 
gorge.  At  this  particular  spot  the  Malls  of  the 
canon  slope  gradually,  so  that  it  is  no  very  dif- 
ficult matter  to  find  a  footing  all  the  way  to  the 
bottom,  especially  as  innumerable  projecting  roots 
and  stones  serve  as  resting-places  for  the  feet. 
On  the  opposite  side,  however,  as  also  on  this  side 
a  little  farther  up,  the  cliffs  rise  sheer  and  abrupt, 
with  full  twenty-five  to  thirty  feet  added  to  their 
height.  Rank-growing  vines  and  tangled  vege- 
tation of  every  description  cover  nearly  every  foot 
of  the  cliffs  from  the  summit  to  the  bed  of  the 
stream,  rendering  it  almost  impossible  for  a  de- 
scent to  be  made  from  that  side. 

The  original  bed  of  the  stream  is  about  thirty 
62 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  63 

feet  wide,  but  succeeding  droughts  have  so  dried 
it  up  that  now  it  has  only  a  shallow  flow  of  water 
from  three  to  four  feet  wide.  In  some  places  it  is 
only  a  few  inches  in  depth,  in  others  only  about  a 
foot  and  a  half.  The  water  is  quite  clear,  and 
at  the  bottom  are  innumerable  little  pebbles  and 
sharp-pointed  rocks  that  would  certainly  cut  the 
feet  did  any  one  attempt  to  walk  over  them. 

Luckily,  however,  Mr.  Lillingtou  and  the  boys 
are  not  compelled  to  take  any  such  mode  of  pro- 
ceeding, for  they  easily  find  footing  over  the  dried 
bed  of  the  stream  along  the  base  of  one  of  the 
cliffs,  where  the  only  drawbacks  are  the  large  heaps 
of  drifted  sand  they  sometimes  encounter  and  the 
innumerable  thickets  of  tangled  thorn.  As  they 
go  onward  the  scene  along  the  channel  of  the 
stream  becomes  more  wildly  beautiful.  The  cliffs 
now  rise  to  the  height  of  over  a  hundred  feet  on 
either  side.  Along  the  summits  grow  clumps  of 
the  silvery-leafed  sandal-wood,  the  delicious  per- 
fume of  which  is  filling  all  the  air.  In  many 
places  upon  the  walls  of  the  cliffs,  especially  near 
the  bottom  of  the  canon,  are  large  clusters  of  ex- 
ceedingly beautiful  deep-green  ferns,  with  their 
slender  feathery  fronds  sometimes  many  feet  in 
length. 

As  they  advance  there  is  a  gradual  ascent  of  the 
bed  of  the  stream,  with  a  barely  perceptible  increase 
of  water  in  the  channel.  The  cliffs,  too,  seem  to  in- 
crease in  height,  the  foliage  to  grow  denser,  and  the 


04  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHART: 

vines  more  tangled,  while  in  some  places  the  boughs 
of  the  trees  appear  almost  to  meet  overhead.  Sud- 
denly at  a  spot  where  he  is  little  exj)ecting  it  the 
boys  point  out  to  Mr.  Lillington  the  position  of  the 
(ave.  But  for  their  guidance,  however,  he  would 
never  have  found  the  entrancie,  it  is  so  shut  in  by 
the  dense-growing  bushes  and  the  overlianging 
ledge.  Still,  the  opening  is  of  considerai)le  width 
— so  wide,  in  fact,  as  to  surprise  him  after  he  has 
examined  it.  It  ciui  be  made  wider  yet,  he  dis- 
covers, by  clearing  away  some  of  the  bushy  growtlis 
that  almost  shut  it  in.  The  light  is  very  dim,  but 
it  is  sufficient  to  reveal  to  them  a  space  of  some 
fifteen  or  twenty  feet  beyond  the  entrance.  At 
this  point  they  stop  and  light  the  lantern  Mr. 
Lillington  has  been  careful  enough  to  provide. 
Considering  the  situation  of  the  cave,  the  walls 
and  floor  in  many  places  are  remarkably  dry.  At 
two  points  they  find  water — in  one  instance  a  tiny 
thread  trickling  down  from  a  considerable  height 
overhead,  and  in  the  other  a  small  but  bold  spring 
that  bubbles  up  from  the  very  floor  of  the  little 
arched  chamber  that  surrounds  it.  The  main 
chamber  of  the  cavern  is  fully  four  hundred  feet 
in  extent  and  about  one-third  as  wide.  Beyond 
this  is  a  succession  of  smaller  chambere. 

"  I  cannot  help  but  think  that  this  is  a  most  fortu- 
nate find,  my  boys,"  Mr.  Lillington  says  at  length, 
as,  having  made  a  satisfactory  exploration  of  the  cave, 
they  are  seated  upon  a  small  mass  of  rock  just  at 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  65 

its  entrance.  "  These  are  troublesome  times,  and 
there  is  no  telling  what  may  iiappen.  In  case  of 
an  attack  by  the  Boers  or  the  Zulus,  and  their  suc- 
cessful entrance  of  the  village,  you  might  escape 
hither  with  Ellie,  Hope  and  the  children." 

"But  what  would  become  of  you,  father?" 
Pierce  asks  anxiously. 

"  I  shall  remain  by  my  people,"  he  says  reso- 
lutely.    "If  they  fali,  I  must  fall  too." 

"But,  uncle,"  Cunnyugham  exclaims  vehement- 
ly, his  fair  face  flushing,  "  you  surely  would  not 
ask  of  us  anything  so  cowardly  as  to  fly  and  leave 
you  at  the  mercy  of  the  enemy  ?  I  at  least  must 
stand  by  you.  I  am  no  longer  a  boy,  but  nearly 
a  man.  If  you  must  face  the  danger,  I  beg — nay, 
I  entreat — you  to  let  me  face  it  with  you." 

"  Oil,  father,"  Pierce  adds  at  this  point,  his  voice 
quivering  with  emotion,  "  how  can  you  want  us  to 
flee  like  cowards,  as  my  cousin  has  suggested,  and 
leave  you  to  face  the  fierce  Zulus  or  the  cruel  Boers 
alone?  They  will  surely  kill  you,  and  then  think 
what  our  feelings  wnll  be  to  know  that  we  have 
deserted  you  and  willingly  left  you  to  the  dreadful 
fate  of  being  murdered  by  them  !  No,  no !  better 
death  with  you  a  hundred  times  than  an  escape 
without  you." 

"  But  you  must  think  of  your  sisters,"  Mr.  Lil- 
Hngton  says  as  resolutely  as  before — "  of   Henri- 
etta,   of   Marvin    and    of   helpless    Baby    Louise. 
Think    of    the   deadly    axes    of    the    bloodthirsty 
5 


66  CHI  LI)  RES  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

Zulus  beating  out  their  innocent  brains,  or,  worse 
still,  of  your  delicate  sister  and  gentle,  refined 
cousin  being  carried  away  into  a  captivity  far 
more  dreadful  than  death.  No,  no,  ray  boys. 
I  know  that  it  is  hard,  but  you  must  listen  to  the 
voice  of  judgment  and  reason.  Should  the  Zulus 
attack  us  and  gain  au  entrance  to  the  village,  there 
will  be  death  and  destruction  on  every  side.  No 
quarter  will  be  given,  not  even  to  the  helpless 
women  and  children,  not  even  to  my  own  precious 
bairns.  The  Zulus  are  incited  by  the  Boers,  and 
the  Boers  are  cruel  as  death.  Therefore,  it  is  my 
positive  command  that  at  the  first  sound  of  au 
attack,  should  one  really  be  made,  you  will  remain 
in  the  house,  or  at  once  seek  its  shelter,  wherever 
you  may  be,  if  that  is  possible.  You  will  remain 
there,  keeping  watch  over  the  girls  and  the  chil- 
dren, until  a  certain  signal  from  me,  hereafter  to 
be  agreed  upon,  when  you  may  know  that  the 
town  is  entered.  Then  I  charge  you,  as  you  love 
me,  to  escape  with  the  girls  and  the  children  as  fast 
as  you  can  to  the  cave  by  way  of  the  banian  trees 
and  the  path  we  have  marked  out  down  the  side  of 
the  cliff.  It  may  be  that  we  shall  conquer  even 
after  the  enemy  has  gained  an  entrance,  if  such  a 
calamity  is  indeed  to  befall  us.  It  may  be,  again, 
that  some  of  us  may  escape  though  the  turn  of  the 
battle  should  prove  disastrous,  and  thus  be  able  un- 
observed to  join  you  at  the  cave.  I  have  an  idea 
that  this  cavern  has  before  served  as  a  refuge  in 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  67 

time  of  war — not,  however,  witliiii  the  memory  of 
any  of  the  present  members  of  the  tril)e,  or  I 
should  have  heard  something  of  it.  In  the  mean 
time,  we  will  secretly  remove  hither  a  stock  of  pro- 
visions and  bedding.  The  atmosphere  of  the  cave 
is  remarkably  dry,  and  there  are  several  articles  of 
food  we  can  bring  that  will  not  be  injured  here  even 
should  they  remain  for  months.  I  cautioned  you 
last  night  to  keep  the  discovery  of  the  cave  a  close 
secret.  Upon  second  thought,  however,  I  think 
we  had  better  tell  Mazika.  He  is  as  true  as  steel 
and  will  not  betray  us,  neither  will  Pitsane.  I  do 
not  know  but  that  it  will  be  a  good  plan  to  tell 
them  both.  We  shall  need  all  the  help  we  can 
get." 

"  But  do  you  not  fear,  father,  that  some  of  the 
natives  may  discover  us  in  our  frequent  trips  hith- 
er?" Pierce  asked  as  they  arose  to  go. 

"  I  think  not.  They  may  see  us  coming  into  the 
gorge,  but  I  do  not  believe  they  will  guess  our 
intention,  especially  if  we  are  ciireful  to  conceal  the 
nature  of  our  burdens.  They  will  doubtless  think 
we  are  only  on  a  hunting-expedition.  But,  to  make 
sure,  we  had  best  let  all  our  trips  be  at  night.  Most 
of  the  natives,"  he  continues,  "  in  spite  of  the  ad- 
vancement they  have  made  toward  enlightenment, 
still  cling  stubbornly  to  many  of  their  old  super- 
stitious. This  gorge  is  regarded  with  much  dread  by 
the  natives.  They  have  fixed  upon  it  as  the  abode 
of    revengeful   and   turbulent   beings  who   try   to 


68  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

injure  all  who  dare  enter  herein.  Consequently, 
they  seldom,  if  ever,  venture  into  the  c^inon.  I 
believe  Ave  shall  he  absolutely  safe  from  detection, 
even  in  the  daytime,  by  coming  down  by  way  of 
the  banian  trees." 

As  they  return  Mr.  Lillington  notes  very  clearly 
the  form  of  the  bed  of  the  stream. 

"It  is  a  natural  roadway,"  he  says  at  length. 
"  You  were  right.  Pierce :  it  would  be  no  difficult 
matter  to  get  a  wagon  along  here  by  entering  below 
the  mission-station,  even  a  wagon  drawn  by  a  num- 
ber of  oxen.  This  has  set  me  to  thinking  again, 
my  boys.  There  is  nothing  like  pre})aring  for  even 
unanticipated  emergencies.  In  case  the  Zulus  do 
overcome  my  people  and  enter  the  village,  and 
you  children  escape  by  being  safely  concealed  in  the 
cave,  you  could  not  of  course  remain  there  always. 
We  must  think  of  a  position  of  this  kind  and  pre- 
j)are  in  advance  for  it.  Should  the  worst  liappen 
and  I  fall  with  my  people,  if  the  means  were  at 
hand  you  might  make  your  way  to  the  village  of  Se- 
chele,  fifteen  days'  journey  south-west  of  this.  Once 
there,  Sechele  could  help  you  on  down  to  the  Cape, 
where  you  could  with  little  difficulty,  I  doubt  not, 
get  passage  for  the  United  States.  My  earnest  de- 
sire is  that,  should  anything  happen  to  me,  my  chil- 
dren may  escape  and  make  their  way  to  my  old 
home  in  the  States.  So  I  want  you  to  pi-omise  me, 
my  dear  boys,  in  the  event  that  I  am  to  fall  by 
fighting  with  my  people,  you  will  sacredly  carry  out, 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  69 

SO  far  as  it  lies  in  your  power  and  with  God's  help, 
my  wishes  in  this  matter. 

"I  will,"  he  continues,  "to-morrow  night,  with 
your  aid  and  with  JNIazika's  and  Pitsane's,  remove 
hither  the  wagon  and  oxen.  The  wagou  can  be 
driven  into  the  cave  and  a  pen  can  be  made  for  the 
oxen.  They  can  be  shut  in  the  upper  end  of  the 
gorge,  w'here  there  is,  I  noticed,  splendid  pas- 
turage." 

While  Mr.  Lillingtou  has  been  speaking  they 
have  entered  the  main  gateway  of  the  village. 
They  are  proceeding  up  the  principal  street  to  the 
side-street  on  which  the  mission-house  stands,  when 
a  somewhat  unusual  commotion  a  short  distance 
to  the  right  of  them  and  in  rear  of  the  chief's  hut 
attracts  their  attention.  Men  are  seen  running  to 
and  fro  in  various  directions;  others,  again,  are 
standing  in  little  groups  talking  excitedly;  even 
the  women  and  children  are  gathered  about.  Some 
of  the  women  are  wringing  their  hands  in  a  help- 
less kind  of  way  that  is  distressing  to  see.  The 
majority  of  them,  however,  are  talking  excitedly 
together,  as  the  men  are  doing.  The  children  are 
crying  and  tugging  at  their  mothers'  skirts  as 
though  greatly  frightened. 

As  INIr.  Lillington  and  the  boys  approach  they 
see  lying  upon  the  ground  in  the  chief's  milking- 
pen  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  valuable  of  the 
cows  he  owns,  and  one  of  which  he  has  been  espe- 
cially proud.      The  poor  creature  has  just  ended 


70  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

her  deatli-st niggles,  with  her  glossy  throat  cut  from 
ear  to  ear. 

"  Wliy,  who  could  have  becu  guilty  of  a  deed  so 
meau  as  that?"  Pierce  cries  indignantly.  "Poor 
Nameta  !  such  a  beautiful  creature  as  she  was,  and 
so  gentle  and  so  kind  !  There  wasn't  another  cow 
in  the  whole  village  that  gave  such  rich,  sweet 
milk.     What  will  the  chief  say?" 

"The  lips  of  the  chief  himself  ordered  the  hand 
of  jSIopane  to  draw  the  knife  across  the  throat  of 
Nameta,"  says  one  of  the  men,  approaching. 

"Impossible!"  exclaims  Mr.  Lillington  hur- 
riedly, turning  so  as  to  face  the  speaker. 

"  But  the  words  I  have  spoken  are  nevertheless 
the  words  of  truth,  my  father.  Nameta  was  in 
the  pen.  The  chief,  Mopaue  and  Sansawe,  all  three, 
saw  her,  while  lying  down,  beat  violently  upon  the 
ground  with  her  tail.  She  did  beat  yet  the  third 
time,  and  then  they  knew  that  she  was  bewitched 
and  was  tiuis  calling  down  death  upon  the  tribe. 
She  was  guilty  of  '  tlolo,'  and  must  be  killed,  for  if 
she  were  not  killed,  then  would  others  have  to  die. 
Mopane  saw  her  first,  and  cried  out  to  the  chief 
that  his  hand  must  draw  the  knife  across  the  throat 
of  Nameta,  else  would  his  own  life  and  that  of  many 
of  his  people  be  required  of  him.  But  this  the  chief 
would  not  do.  It  seemed  as  if  he  could  not,  for 
she  was  truly  a  beautiful  creature  and  the  chief 
valued  her  so.  He  tried  to  reason  with  Mopane, 
but  the  ears  of  the  rain-maker  were  deaf  to  all  his 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  71 

entreaties.  Finally,  Mopaue  said  something,  we 
heard  not  what,  that  made  the  chief  draw  back  as 
though  some  mighty  hand  had  struck  him.  Cover- 
ing his  head  with  his  kaross,  lie  called  forth  at  length 
to  Mopaue  in  a  trembling  voice  to  slay,  and  then 
rushed  madly  away  in  the  direction  of  his  hut." 

"And  where  is  Bubi  now?"  Mr.  Lillington  ques- 
tions. 

"  He  is  within  his  hut,  good  father." 

"Bubi,"  Mr.  Lillington  says  in  a  gentle  and 
reproachful  voice  as  he  kneels  beside  the  couch 
of  skins  where  the  chief  lies  with  his  head  still 
wrapped  in  his  kaross,  "what  is  this  I  hear? 
What  is  it  mine  own  eyes  have  seen  ?  The  gen- 
tle and  affectionate  Nameta,  the  delight  of  the 
chiefs  eyes  and  the  pride  of  the  whole  village, 
lies  with  her  beautiful  glossy  sides  weltering  in 
blood  and  her  slender  throat  severed  from  ear  to 
ear,  slain — slain  by  Mopane's  hand  and  at  Bubi's 
command." 

"  It  was  beyond  the  power  of  Bubi  to  stay  the 
hand  that  struck,"  the  chief  says  mournfully,  and 
still  refusing  to  let  his  eyes  meet  the  searching  gaze 
he  knows  well  is  fixed  upon  him.  "O  friend  of 
my  heart's  best  confidence !  do  not  reproach  Bubi. 
The  tongue  of  Mopane  is  fierce,  the  fire  of  his 
eyes  like  the  lightning  that  slays,  the  force  of 
his  words  as  a  mighty  hand  that  presses  all  down 
before  it.  The  heart  of  Bubi  at  times  is  weak — 
weak,  my  father,  in  spite  of  the  strength  you  have 


72  ClIILLRES  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

tried  to  put  into  it — his  soul  like  that  of  a  ohikVs 
that  gropes  in  the  dark.  The  practices  and  cus- 
toms of  his  people  are  strong  upon  iiini.  Kveu 
the  religion  of  the  great  God  is  sometimes  not  so 
strong.  The  tail  of  Xameta  did  heat  upon  the 
ground  ;  it  heat  fiercely,  as  though  she  were  very, 
very  angry  and  were  calling  down  death  upon  us 
all.  I  know  that  already  the  assegais  of  the  Zulus 
are  raised  to  strike;  therefore  was  the  soul  of  JJubi 
sore  within  him.  I  stood  firm  against  Mopane 
until  he  said  he  had  seen  it  all  in  a  dream,  of  how 
the  tail  of  Nameta  was  to  beat  upon  the  ground, 
and  how  Bubi  was  to  refuse  to  have  the  knife 
drawn  across  her  throat,  and  then  how — O  my 
father,  it  is  terrible ! — the  Matabele  were  to  strike 
when  Bubi  least  expected  it  and  where  he  looked 
not  for  it,  and  the  blood  of  his  people  was  to  run 
like  the  water  of  the  river,  while  his  own  head 
was  to  be  borne  aloft  on  the  sj)ear  of  his  old  ene- 
my, Mosilikatse." 

"Bubi,"  Mr.  Lillington  says  in  a  voice  rendered 
husky  through  repressed  emotion,  "  let  us  pray,  my 
friend — let  us  beseech  the  great  God  on  liigh  to 
strengthen  the  weak  heart  of  Bubi  and  to  send 
light  to  his  troubled  soul ;"  and  then  and  there 
the  good  missionary  falls  upon  his  knees  and  pours 
forth  such  a  petition  as  must  assuredly  pierce  the 
innermost  sanctuary  of  the  Most  High. 

"  And  now,  Bubi,"  Mr.  Lillington  says  in  deep 
and  earnest  tone  as  he  arises  from  his   knees  and 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  73 

bends  once  more  above  the  recumbent  form  of  the 
chief,  "  rouse  yourself,  my  friend,  and  go  forth 
strong  in  the  strcngtli  of  Him  who  is  both  your 
God  and  tlie  God  of  your  people.  Have  no  more 
to  do  with  Mopane  and  his  wicked  superstitions ; 
close  your  ears  to  the  seductive  words  of  the  voice 
that  but  seeks  to  lead  you  and  your  people  to  de- 
struction. Come  away  from  the  old  ways ;  look 
not  back  upon  them,  but  turn  your  eyes  resolutely 
toward  the  new.  Believe  in  Christ  Jesus,  Bubi, 
with  all  your  heart,  and  you  shall  be  saved." 

Mr.  Lillington  cannot  at  this  time  tell  just  what 
is  the  effect  upon  Bubi  of  his  words  or  of  the  deep 
and  heartfelt  prayer  he  has  offered  up  in  his  be- 
half. The  chief  seems  much  overcome — so  much 
so,  in  fact,  as  to  be  unable  to  converse  further — 
and  so  Mr.  Lillington  leaves  him,  hoping  and  still 
praying  silently  and  fervently  that  he  may  be  com- 
pletely drawn  back  from  the  net  that  seems  out- 
stretched to  ensnare  him. 

It  is  two  days  ere  he  sees  him  again,  and  then  he 
appears  so  much  subdued,  so  thoroughly  repentant, 
so  gentle  and  submissive,  that  the  heart  of  the  good 
missionary  loses  much  of  its  solicitude  in  regard  to 
him,  and  he  feels  that  all  may  yet  be  well  with  the 
fine  old  chief.     But  alas  for  these  hopes ! 


CHAPTER  ly. 

"He  shall  redeem  Israel  from  all  his  iniquities." 

n^IIE  uight  is  a  sultry  one — exceedingly  so  even 
-L  for  tliis  climate.  All  clay  long  the  sun  has 
shone  witli  a  hot,  white  glare  that  has  made  the 
eyes  smart  and  burn  and  the  head  tingle.  Finding 
the  house  oj){)rossive,  Hope  has,  after  their  return 
from  the  evening  services  at  the  kotia,  proposed  to 
Ellie,  Pierce  and  Cunnyngham  that  they  take  a 
Avalk. 

"  There  is  one  place  I  should  like  to  go  to  so 
much,"  says  Ellie  wistfully,  in  a  voice  that  is  far 
from  being  as  steady  as  her  tones  usually  are.  "  It 
has  been  more  tiian  a  week  since  I  was  at — at 
mother's  grave,  and  if  you  do  not  object,  Hope,  I 
would  like  to  go  there;  that  is,  if  father  thinks  it 
safe.  It  is  only  a  little  distance  outside  the  walls 
of  the  station,  as  you  know,  and  we  might  take 
Mazika  with  us." 

Mr.  Lillington  finally  consents  to  their  going, 
with  the  provision  that  they  shall  be  very  careful 
and  look  about  them  constantly,  and  also  that  they 
take  both  Mazika  and  the  Hottentot  Pitsane. 
"  For,"  says  Mr.  Lillington,  "  Pitsane  has  the 
ear  of  a  cat  and  the  scent  of  a  dog." 

74 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  75 

The  little  cemetery  in  which  the  dearly-loved 
"wife  and  mother  has  been  laid  to  her  last  long 
sleep  is  at  the  summit  of  a  gently-sloping  knoll 
to  the  right  of  the  valley  that  lies  in  front  of  the 
main  entrance.  It  is  but  little  more  than  a  mound 
in  size,  and  is  only  about  two  hundred  yards  from 
the  wall  that  encloses  the  station.  Not  far  from  it, 
and  crowning  the  slope  of  a  similar  mound,  only 
one  that  is  much  larger,  is  the  native  burial-place. 
The  little  plot  in  which  Mrs.  Lillington  rests  with 
two  of  her  children  who  have  preceded  her  some 
years  to  the  land  beyond  all  shadows  is  about  thirty 
feet  square,  and  is  enclosed  not  only  by  a  strong 
wall  of  stone- work,  but  also  by  stout  palisades  fully 
ten  feet  high.  The  graves  are  carefully  kept  by 
tender  and  loving  hands.  At  the  head  and  foot 
of  each  is  a  neat  white  board  with  the  names  and 
the  dates  of  birth  and  death.  That  of  the  wife 
and  mother  bears  a  longer  inscription  that  tells  of 
the  courage  and  many  virtues  of  her  who  has  died, 
nobly  doing  with  all  her  might  that  which  her 
hand  found  to  do.  Many  beautiful  shrubs  have 
been  trained  to  grow  about  the  graves,  while  above 
all  two  slender,  willowy  motsouri  keep  their  mourn- 
ful vigil. 

They  linger  for  perhaps  three-quarters  of  an 
hour  within  the  enclosure,  for  there  are  many 
things  Elbe's  loving  hands  find  to  do,  while  out- 
side Mazika  and  Pitsane  keep  close  and  faithful 
watch. 


76  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

"  No  clog  of  a  Matabele  about  here,"  Pitsaue 
says  coufideutly  as  they  turn  to  make  their  way 
back  to  tlie  mission-station — "  no  vulture  of  a 
Boer,  either,  waiting  to  pick  the  bones  of  the  Huns 
the  Zuhis  have  threatened  to  slay.  If  there  were, 
Pitsaue  would  scent  them  out ;  Pitsaue's  eai*s  would 
hear  the  footfalls  of  the  hyenas  that  prowl  through 
the  woods  seeking  to  lap  the  blood  of  the  brave 
Bechuana  lion."  * 

"  But  will  they  not  come,  Pitsane  ?  will  they  not 
come  soon?"  Hope  pauses  beside  him  to  question 
anxiously. 

"  Pitsane  cannot  tell,  White  Lily.  Perhaps 
they  come  soon,  perhaps  they  come  not  at  all. 
The  name  of  Bubi  is  great,  and  the  heart  of  the 
Zulu  dog  fails  him  when  he  thinks  of  the  shining 
battle-axe  of  the  lion  chief." 

"Are  you  not  afraid  to  talk  so,  Pitsane,  when 
Mazika  is  so  near?"  Hope  asks  in  a  low  voice. 
"  Will  he  not  grow  angry  to  hear  his  people  thus 
abused?" 

"  They  are  not  his  people,  White  Lily.  The 
blood  of  the  Zulu,  it  is  true,  flows  in  the  veins  of 
the  Mazika,  but  it  is  not  their  blood.  It  is  the 
blood  of  the  Amazulu,  of  the  old  brave  Amazulu, 
who  scorned  to  kill  an  enemy  save  in  open  battle, 
and  who  were  kind  to  the  helpless  and  whose  ear 
was  not  deaf  to  the  cries  of  women  and  children. 

*  The  Bamangwato  are  one  of  the  many  branches  of  the 
fine  old  Bechuana  tribe. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  77 

But  the  blood  of  these  Zulus  has  been  mixed  with 
the  blood  of  the  Boers,  of  the  treacherous  white- 
skinned  Boers,  who  are  as  cruel  as  deatii  to  an 
enemy  and  traitoi-ous  to  their  friends.  The  hands 
of  these  Zulus  and  of  the  Boers  have  crossed  in 
deeds  that  would  make  even  the  cheek  of  a  Baka- 
lahari  warrior  burn  Avith  shame.  They  hate  each 
other  at  heart,  as  the  lion  and  elephant  hate,  yet 
for  the  sake  of  the  mean  deeds  they  may  do  will 
again  join  hands." 

"  Pitsane  has  spoken  as  a  man  speaks,"  says  the 
grim  old  Zulu,  now  taking  up  the  conversation  in 
his  deep  and  musical  native  tongue,  "  and  tiie  words 
of  Pitsane  are  wise.  The  blood  of  these  Zulus  has 
become  as  the  blood  of  dogs  and  cowards ;  there- 
fore will  Mazika  have  none  of  it.  I  speak  of  the 
Zulus  who  know  too  well  the  Boers — who,  as  Pit- 
sane has  said,  have  crossed  hands  in  evil  and  cow- 
ardly deeds  with  the  whining  jackals  that  even  now 
possess  the  mountains  from  whence  their  brave 
fathers  were  driven.  But  farther  away,  beyond 
the  crests  of  the  great  mountains,  still  dwell  many 
of  the  people  Mazika  claims  as  his  own.  There 
still  wander  the  bold  children  of  the  tribe  of  the 
Maquilisini,  of  the  royal  blood  of  the  great  and 
mighty  king  T'Chaka.  They  are  men  and  war- 
riors, and  of  them  Mazika  is  not  ashamed  to  say 
that  he  is  one.  They  are  the  men  who  can  die 
like  men  and  meet  face  to  face  in  battle  the  war- 
riors against  wdioni  they  fight.     They  are  not  dogs 


78  CHILVREN   OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

and  jackals  who  creep  upon  the  prey  they  are  hun- 
gry to  possess  when  the  hacks  of  tliose  they  seek 
are  turned.  Oh  that  Mazika  could  with  tiiis  axe 
draw  from  his  veins  every  drop  of"  the  l)h)()d  that 
may  be  mixed  even  so  little  with  tiuit  of  these 
Zulu  dogs,  whose  fathers  once  sat  with  his  fathei*s 
in  the  house  of  the  Amazulu  !" 

As  he  speaks  he  brandishes  somewhat  wildly 
about  his  head  tiie  great  axe  lie  carries,  then  a 
momeut  later  drops  it  and  stands  gazing  away  into 
space  as  motionless  as  though  carven  in  stone. 

He  is  a  powerful-looking  man,  fully  six  feet  three 
or  four  inches  in  height,  with  a  pair  of  shoulders 
and  long,  sinewy  arms  that  seem  to  have  in  them 
strength  enough  to  fell  an  ox  at  one  blow.  But, 
strange  to  say,  his  feet  and  hands  are  rather  small 
for  his  size  and  quite  aristocratic-looking  in  shape, 
while  his  face  has  few  of  the  features  of  the  negro. 
His  nose  is  iiigh  and  long,  with  the  thin,  dilating 
nostrils  so  often  seen  in  those  race-horses  noted  for 
their  powers  of  endurance.  His  hair  is  piled  in 
masses  on  top  of  his  head,  with  a  brilliantly  shin- 
ing black  ring  of  gum  crowning  the  centre.  His 
mouth  is  large  and  his  jaws  as  strong  and  firmly 
set  as  those  of  a  mastiff.  But  for  the  keen,  brown, 
restless  eyes  that  light  up  the  face  it  would  have  a 
grimncss  and  severity  about  it  that  would  render  it 
almost  a  terror  to  those  not  accustomed  to  the  sight 
of  it.  But  the  heart  of  the  Zulu,  though  stern  and 
brave  when  the  necessity  offers,  is  nevertheless  warm 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  79 

and  tender,  and  in  many  things  lie  is  as  gentle  as  a 
woman. 

At  the  great  gate  Mazika  and  Pitsane  leave  them, 
wliile  the  others  take  their  way  on  toward  the  mis- 
sion-house. As  they  reach  the  brow  of  the  hill 
near  the  kotla  an  unusual  stir  and  the  hum  of 
many  voices  about  the  hut  of  Mopane,  that  stands 
some  little  distance  from  the  chiefs  hut,  attract 
their  attention. 

"  I  wonder  what  old  Mopane  can  be  about  now?" 
Pierce  says  quickly.  "  I  don't  like  the  look  of  that 
crowd,  and  the  sounds,  too,  are  a  little  suspicious. 
Suppose  we  go  by  and  see  what  it  all  means?" 

The  entrance  to  the  palisades  enclosing  the  hut 
and  its  little  patch  of  garden  is  wide  open,  as  is 
also  the  door  of  the  hut.  About  the  latter  are 
congregated  many  moving  forms,  which  make  way 
at  once  as  the  little  group  from  the  mission-house 
draws  near.  Within  the  hut  and  plainly  in  view 
are  Mopane,  Bubi  and  several  of  the  head-men  of 
the  tribe.  Something  altogether  unusual  seems  to 
be  going  on,  to  judge  from  the  appearance  of  Mo- 
pane, the  chief  and  the  others. 

Bubi  is  so  dressed  that  at  first  sight  it  would  be 
difficult  to  associate  him  with  the  tall,  intelligent- 
looking  chief  in  civilized  dress  we  have  first  seen 
on  the  veranda  of  the  mission-house.  His  scarlet 
uniform  has  been  completely  discarded,  and  in  its 
place  he  wears  a  single  garment  of  leopard-skin 
that  is  fastened   about  his   neck  and  falls  nearly 


80  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

to  his  knoos,  with  wido  openings  at  the  sides 
thronu'h  which  iiis  arms,  naked  to  the  .sliouUlers, 
are  tlirnst.  liehind,  this  garment  is  adorned  with 
innumerable  white  cow-tails  that  sweep  the  floor 
as  he  walks.  Around  his  neek  are  many  strings 
of  large  glass  beads,  while  his  ankles  and  wrists 
are  bound  with  broad  bands  of  copper  wire  from 
which  are  pendent  many  jingling  bits  of  steel,  iron 
and  ivory.  His  head  is  adorned  with  innumerable 
feathers  of  the  eagle  and  vulture  and  his  face  cov- 
ered with  a  smearing  of  red  and  yellow  paint.  In 
his  right  hand  he  carried  a  rungu,  or  knob-club, 
and  in  liis  left  a  great  shield  made  of  rhinoceros- 
hide  painted  in  bands  of  black  and  white. 

Mopane  is  even  more  gorgeously  arrayed.  About 
his  middle  is  a  covering  made  of  white  monkey- 
skins  with  the  tails  pendent  and  striking  below 
the  knees.  Around  his  neck  is  gathered  a  flowing 
garment  of  brilliant  red  baize,  which  falls  behind 
in  a  train  and  is  carefully  carried  by  a  small  boy. 
All  over  his  body  are  fastened  innumerable  charms 
and  little  sacks  of  "  medicine,"  while  two  enormous 
antelope-horns,  beautifully  polished,  are  strapped 
upon  his  head.  In  one  hand  he  holds  the  jaw- 
bone of  some  large  animal  and  in  the  other  a  dried 
gourd  filled  with  rattling  pebbles. 

As  Cunnyngham  and  Pierce  first  reach  the  door- 
way and  gaze  through  it  into  the  hut,  Bubi,  preced- 
ed by  Mopane,  is  passing  around  in  a  circle,  each 
muttering  the  words  of  some  low,  weird  chant,  while 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  81 

at  the  end  of  every  stanza  INIopaue  wildly  throws 
his  arms  into  the  air  as  though  invoking  the  aid 
of  an  unseen  spirit.  At  the  same  time  he  rattles 
violently  the  pebbles  in  the  gourd.  Directly  the 
rain-maker  drops  upon  his  knees  and  dips  his  head 
once  or  twice  toward  the  floor,  while  Bubi  stands 
near  him  with  a  solemn  face,  and  the  other  men  in 
the  hut  join  hands  and  circle  about  them,  chanting 
the  words  of  the  same  guttural  refrain  Mopane  and 
the  chief  have  just  been  singing. 

In  a  little  while  the  chant  stops  and  the  men 
W'ithdraw  to  the  shadow  of  the  walls.  Rising  to 
his  feet,  INIopane  now  faces  the  chief,  who  imme- 
diately drops  to  a  recumbent  position  upon  the 
floor,  while  Mopane  moves  nearer.  Then  Mopane 
takes  from  a  small  basket  a  beautifully  polished 
ox-horn  which  is  filled  with  a  soft  white  powder. 
Some  of  this  powder  he  spreads  out  upon  the  chief's 
hand,  and  then  begins  another  weird  chant  as  he 
bends  above  it.  He  next  scrapes  it  carefully  from 
the  cliief's  hand  into  a  small  vessel  of  stoneware,  to 
which  he  adds  other  powders  obtained  from  various 
little  sacks  upon  his  body.  Last  of  all,  he  pours 
into  it  a  crimson  liquid  that  comes  from  the  cov- 
ered basket.  Then,  flourishing  the  jawbone  thrice 
across  it,  he  raises  the  vessel  in  his  hand,  swings  it 
wildly  above  his  head  in  a  circle,  shrieks  out  some 
fearful  incantation,  and  the  next  moment  presses  it 
against  the  chief's  lips,  bidding  him  drink.  This 
he  obediently  does,  while  the  wicked-looking  face 


82  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

of  Mopane  is  working  with  the  most  horrible  con- 
tortious.  Ere  Bubi  lias  drunk  quite  all  the  eou- 
tents  of  the  vessel  Mopane's  baud  again  seizes  it, 
aud  pours  what  is  left  down  the  throat  of  a  cock 
one  of  the  men  is  holding.  The  next  instant  the 
head  of  the  terrified  bird  is  completely  severed 
from  its  body  by  one  swift,  dextrous  stroke  of 
Mopane's  glittering  knife.  Then,  while  the  head- 
less body  is  giving  convulsive  plunges,  Mopane 
smears  his  face  and  hands  in  the  warm,  spirting 
blood. 

"This  is  too  horrible!"  exclaims  Ell ie,  as,  cov- 
ering her  face  with  her  hands,  her  slight  frame 
trembles  like  that  of  one  shaken  by  an  ague. 
"  Let  us  go  ;  I  can  t^tand  no  more.  Oh,  of  what 
can  Bubi  be  thinking?" 

Hope  too  is  trembling  violently,  and  as  they 
pass  out  through  the  opening  in  the  palisades  her 
brother  has  to  support  her. 

"  It  is  too  dreadful  you  girls  should  have  seen 
that,"  Cunnyngham  says  in  an  unsteady  voice  as 
they  go  on  toward  the  kotla.  "  Had  I  for  a  mo- 
ment dreamed  of  the  nature  of  that  gathering,  I 
would  never  have  encouraged  your  coming  hither. 
Why,  Bubi  seems  possessed,  while  as  to  Mopane — 
well,  he  is  just  too  horribly  wicked  for  anything. 
He  seems  to  have  Bubi  again  completely  under  his 
control,  and  that  is  one  point  very  clear." 

"  What  did  it  all  mean  ?"  Hope  asks,  not  yet 
sufficiently  recovered  from  the  nervous  excitement 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  83 

of  the  moment  to  control   her  voice,  so  that  the 
question  is  spoken   very  little  above  a  whisper. 

"  Simply  one  of  Mopane's  high-and-mighty  ex- 
hibitions of  the  old-time  sorcery  of  his  people,"  an- 
swers Pierce.  "He  certainly  must  have  laid  his 
plans  very  cunningly,  or  father  would  have  found 
out  something  about  it.  It  surprised  me  to  see  so 
many  of  the  head-men  there,  and  taking  part  too. 
Poor  fellows  !  this  threatened  Boer  and  Zulu  attack 
seems  to  have  completely  demoralized  some  of 
them." 

"Oh  what  will  father  say?"  Ellie  cries  as  she 
clasps  her  hands  unconsciously  in  her  emotion, 
while  her  eyes  are  filling  with  tears.  "  Poor  father! 
he  has  counted  so  much  on  Bubi's  firmness  and  the 
genuineness  of  his  conversion." 

"  Bubi  has  his  weak  points  like  all  of  us,"  says 
Cunnyngham  pityingly,  "in  spite  of  his  many  fine 
qualities.  It  is  hard  for  him  at  his  age  altogether  to 
shake  off  the  longings  after  the  old  superstitious 
practices  of  his  fathers.  He  is  very  impressionable 
and  easily  worked  upon.  I  doubt  not  that  Mo  pane 
has  made  him  fear  that  some  terrible  calamity  will 
overtake  him  and  his  people  if  he  does  not  call 
upon  the  aid  of  the  many  unseen  spirits  in  which 
the  tribe  has  for  generations  had  full  confidence.  I 
feel  assured  that  he  has  made  the  poor  chief  believe 
that  these  spirits  must  be  appeased  in  some  way,  or 
else  he  and  all  the  village  will  be  destroyed  when 
they  go  into  battle." 


84  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

"But  Biibi  seemed  so  far  above  all  this  !"  ElHe 
says  again.  "  He  appeared  so  earnest  and  faithful 
in  his  professions — so  repentant  too  after  tiiat  affair 
with  the  poor  cow  whose  throat  he  let  ISIopane  cut. 
Oh,  how  can  he  act  in  this  way  ?  how  can  he  deceive 
us  so?" 

"  Do  not  be  too  hard  upon  him,  dear  cousin," 
Cunnyngham  says  again.  "  Bubi  is  but  a  poor 
weak  savage  after  all,  and  it  is  hard  at  his  age, 
even  with  the  strength  of  Christ's  love  in  his  heart 
to  help  him,  to  quite  draw  himself  away  from  the 
old  habits  and  customs  of  his  people,  especially  in 
the  presence  of  so  wily  a  tempter  as  Mopane.  It 
is  like  seeking  to  tear  up  a  strong  tree  that  has 
stood  long  rooted  in  one  place." 

When  Mr.  Lillington  is  told  of  what  has  tran- 
spired at  Mopane's  hut  his  heart  is  heavy  withiu 
him,  though  his  faith  never  once  falters.  One 
there  is,  he  knows,  whose  ways  are  past  our  find- 
ing out,  and  who  in  his  own  good  time  will  doubt- 
less give  him  to  see  how  out  of  this  very  evil  good 
may  be  wrought. 

"  God  is  good,"  the  missionary  murmurs  to  him- 
self. "  He  has  promised,  and  most  steadfast  is  that 
promise,  that  Israel  through  him  shall  yet  be  re- 
deemed from  his  iniquities." 


CHAPTER  YI. 

"From  everlasting  to  everlasting  Thou  art  God." 

"  rriO-DAY   is   court-day   in    Lepelole,    Captain 

J-  Murray,"  says  Pierce  gayly,  as  a  morning 
or  two  later  they  are  all  sitting  about  the  break- 
fast-table. "  Will  not  you  and  Mr.  Cumming  come 
with  us  ?  You  will  see  some  sights  and  hear  some 
arguments  from  the  lawyers  on  both  sides  that  will 
well  repay  you." 

"  Courts  and  lawyers  ?"  questions  Captain  Mur- 
ray. "  Why,  isn't  this  quite  progressive  for  a 
South-African  native  village?" 

"  Oh  yes,  indeed  it  is.  It  was  my  fiUher's  idea. 
All  the  graver  offences  are  carried  to  him  and  to 
the  chief  for  adjustment,  but  the  petty  affairs  he 
has  arranged  to  have  settled  by  a  regular  court; 
and  it  works  beautifully,  I  can  assure  you." 

The  court  holds  its  session  in  the  kotla.  The 
judge  is  a  grave-looking  old  Bamangwato  warrior, 
who  follows  with  a  most  serious  and  attentive  ex- 
pression every  point  of  the  various  testimonies,  and 
whose  charges  to  the  jury  often  evince  a  clearness 
of  insight  and  a  power  of  reasoning  that  sometimes 

85 


86  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

astonish  even  Mr.  Lillington.  The  lawyers  are 
all  chosen  becmise  of  their  readiness  of  speech  and 
gift  of  argument,  that  makes  them  the  envied  of 
their  less  fortunate  fellows.  As  to  the  jury,  they 
are  generally  very  wise  and  knowing-looking, 
despite  the  fact  that  they  are  })ledged  before- 
hand to  have  no  previous  leaning  to  either  side. 

One  of  the  cases  tried  on  this  occasion  amuses 
Captain  ]\Iurray  very  much.  Even  grave  Mr. 
Gumming  smiles  more  than  once  over  it.  It, 
however,  shows  them  very  clearly  just  how  siirewd 
and  intelligent  some  of  these  Bamangwato  amateur 
lawyers  really  are. 

The  case  is  against  two  men  who  have  been 
caught  in  the  very  act  of  dragging  off  to  eat  the 
carcass  of  a  neighbor's  ox.  Their  defence  is  that 
they  did  not  slay  the  animal,  but  found  it  dying 
of  a  wound  inflicted  by  another  ox,  which,  ac(!ord- 
ing  to  an  old-established  custom  of  the  Bamaug- 
watos,  made  it  theirs,  .especially  as  they  claim  to 
have  driven  off  the  infuriated  beast  that  inflicted 
the  wound  and  rescued  the  dying  animal  from  the 
probability  of  being  devoured  by  hyenas. 

When  the  defence  is  ended  the  lawyer  for  the 
prosecution  arises  and  begins  in  true  lawyer-fashion 
to  examine  the  chief  witness,  whereupon  the  fol- 
lowing colloquy  ensues : 

Lawyer.  "  Does  an  ox-tail  grow  up  or  down  or 
sideways  ?" 

Witness.  "  It  grows  downward." 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  87 

L.  "  Do  the  horns  of  an  ox  grow  up  or  down  or 
sideways  ?" 

W.  "  They  grow  upward," 

X.  "  If  an  ox  gores  another  ox,  does  he  not 
lower  his  head  and  gore  upward?" 

W.  "  He  does." 

L.  "  Could  the  ox  whose  horns  are  turned 
downward  gore  upward?" 

W.  "He  could  not." 

"  Just  so  it  is,"  concludes  the  wily  interrogator 
as  he  turns  to  the  jury  triumphantly,  "and  if  you 
will  examine  the  ox  found  in  the  possession  of  the 
accused  you  will  find  that  the  wound  has  been 
given  downward,  and  hence  could  not  have  been 
made  by  the  horn  of  another  ox,  as  claimed  by 
the  defence,  but  by  the  stab  of  some  instrument ; 
and  as  animals  are  not  in  the  habit  of  carrying 
swords  or  knives  around  with  them  in  this  country, 
we  may  well  know  Avhat  to  think."  * 

On  makiuo;  an  examination  this  is  found  to  be 
the  case,  and  so  the  offenders  are  sent  to  work 
twenty  days   on  the  village   streets. 

The  next  day  the  long-expected  hunting-party 
from  the  Cape  arrives,  and  the  morning  following, 
at  daybreak.  Captain  Murray,  Mr.  Cumming,  In- 
koosi  and  the  Hottentot  Chaka  bid  adieu  to  their 
friends  at  the  mission-station  and  set  off  for  Zam- 
bezi. 

*  This  cross-examination  is  given  almost  literally,  though  it 
did  not  occur  in  this  part  of  Africa. 


88  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALI II ART 

The  following  Thursday  afternoon,  as  Ellic  was 
down  ill  the  celhir  superintending  old  Manioehisane 
and  Jim,  who  were  busy  cutting  up  meat  to  dry,  she 
was  given  quite  a  shock  by  seeing  her  father  appear 
suddenly  at  the  door  with  a  white,  set  face  and 
almost  speechless  from  some  excitement  that  had 
evidently  very  nearly  overcome  him. 

"  Father,"  she  cries,  springing  at  once  to  his  side 
and  clasping  her  hands  together  in  nervous  dread, 
"what  has  happened?  Why  do  you  look  so? 
Tell  me  quickly." 

"  Bubi !"  he  gasps  almost  inarticulately — "  Bubi 
has  been  blown  up  in  an  explosion  of  gunpowder. 
We  know  not  how  badly  he  may  be  hurt ;  he  may 
be  dead  even  now." 

"How  did  it  happen?"  she  asks,  trembling  so 
that  she  can  hardly  stand. 

"Through  some  wicked  experiment  of  Mopaue's. 
The  rain-maker  Avas  trying,  as  he  said,  to  get  the 
*  bewitchment '  out  of  the  powder." 

"And  is  Mopane  also  hurt?" 

"Yes,  to  some  extent,  but  nothing  at  all  like  poor 
Bubi.  The  chief  was  bending  directly  over  the 
powder  when  Mopane  blew  the  spark  into  it.  I 
do  not  like  to  judge,"  he  says,  only  for  her  ears  to 
catch,  "  but  it  seems  to  me  to  have  been  premedi- 
tated. Mopane  certainly  knew  that  the  powder 
would  explode." 

"  Poor,  poor  Bubi !"  Ellie  exclaims  pitifully. 
"Will  he  really  die,  father?" 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  89 

"I  do  not  know,  my  chikl,  I  have  not  made 
a  close  examination  yet.  I  came  for  my  medicine- 
case.  Will  you  not  go  with  me  and  try  to  say 
something  that  will  comfort  poor  Nyamona?  She 
seems  nearly  beside  herself  over  this  terrible  acci- 
dent to  her  husband.  Indeed,  the  whole  village  is 
so  excited  that  every  man  and  woman  seems  as  a 
creature  demented.  It  is  a  wonder  you  did  not 
hear  some  of  the  cries  and  lamentations." 

"  I  thought  I  did,  father,  at  one  time  hear  an 
unusual  noise,  but  I  have  been  down  in  the  cel- 
lar nearly  all  the  afternoon." 

"  Well,  leave  what  you  are  doing  now  to  Mamo- 
chisane  and  Jim  and  come  witii  me  to  the  chiePs 
house.  lu  the  mean  time,  dear,"  in  a  lowered 
tone,  "give  no  hint  to  any  one  of  my  suspicious 
in  regard  to  Mopane.  I  may  judge  him  unjustly, 
after  all.  Did  the  village  but  get  even  so  much  as 
an  inkling  that  he  had  willfully  led  the  chief  into 
danger,  I  would  not  answer  for  his  life,  rain-maker 
though  he  is.  This  is  truly  a  bad  affair,"  he  con- 
cludes, "and  if  the  chief  dies  it  will  be  worse 
still." 

"We  must  trust  in  God  and  hope  for  the  best," 
Ellie  says  bravely,  unconsciously  taking  her  father's 
place  as  comforter. 

They  find  a  large  crowd  around  the  door  of  the 
chief's  hut.  In  truth,  so  lai-ge  is  it  that  they  have 
much  difficulty  in  making  their  way  through  it ;  but 
all  press  back  as  best  they  can  to  make  way  for  the 


90  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

missionary  and  his  daughter.  Sobs  and  moans  are 
heard  on  every  side,  even  cries  and  wai lings  from 
strong  men,  for  tlie  chief  has  been  much  b('h)ved 
and  this  calamity  is  sudden  and  grievous.  But  the 
lamentations  of  poor  Nyamoua,  the  one  faithful 
wife  the  chief  has  retained  after  his  conversion  to 
Christianity,  are  heartrending  to  hear.  The  poor 
chief  lies  stretched  upon  his  couch  of  skins,  blind, 
speechless  and  almost  without  life.  It  is  an  ap- 
pealing and  a  pathetic  sight. 

It  takes  all  Ellie's  powers  of  persuasion  to  get 
Nyamona  away  from  the  chiePs  side  long  enough 
for  her  father  to  make  the  examination  he  desires. 
With  a  sad  and  heavy  heart  Mr.  Lillingtou  soon 
discovers  that  for  poor  Bubi  recovery  is  impossible. 
He  may,  however,  linger  for  some  days,  and  the 
j)ainful  knowledge  of  the  chiers  real  condition  he 
determines  to  keep  to  himself,  at  least  for  a  time. 
He  will  doubtless  tell  the  older  members  of  his 
own  family,  but  no  one  else. 

Bubi  in  a  short  while  recovers  consciousness, 
but  his  intense  suffering  has  rendered  him  so 
weak  that  it  is  with  great  difficulty  he  can  reply 
to  the  good  missionary's  questionings  even  in 
monosyllables.  In  the  mean  time,  Mr.  Lillington 
has  given  him  something  to  deaden  in  part  his 
pain,  and  applied  soothing  lotions  to  his  burnt 
face,  chest  and  shoulders. 

After  the  first  burst  of  passionate  weeping,  and 
having  been  considerably  quieted  by  Ellie's  gentle 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  91 

comforting  words,  Nyamona  makes  her  way  back 
to  the  chiefs  side,  aud  remains  there  calm,  tearless 
and  watchful.  Cautioning  her  to  let  J3iibi  speak 
only  when  absolutely  necessary,  and  giving  her 
careful  instructions  as  to  how  to  administer  the 
medicines  he  places  in  her  hands,  Mr.  Lillington 
with  Ellie  leaves  the  hut,  promising  to  return  in  a 
short  while. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Lillington  informs  the 
older  members  of  his  household  of  Bubi's  true  con- 
dition, and  also  tells  them  sadly  that  the  end  may 
be  even  nearer  than  he  thinks.  His  words  seem 
prophetic,  for  that  very  afternoon  he  is  summoned 
to  the  bedside  of  the  chief.  The  messenger  is  no 
other  than  Sebubi,  the  eldest  son  of  the  ciiief  and 
the  successor  to  the  chieftainship  in  case  of  the  lat- 
ter's  death.  Weak  and  vain  as  he  is,  Sebubi  has 
nevertheless  a  tender  heart,  and  his  father's  terri- 
ble condition  seems  to  have  made  a  deep  impression 
upon  him,  for  the  tears  are  rolling  down  his  cheeks 
as  he  entreats  Mr.  Lillington  to  do  all  he  can  to 
save  the  chief. 

Ellie,  Hope,  Cunnyngham  and  Pierce  accompany 
Mr.  Lillington  to  the  hut.  It  is  a  solemn  and  im- 
pressive scene  as  they  stand  grouped  about  the  bed 
of  the  dying  chief — for  dying  they  can  now  see 
plainly  that  he  is — and  a  scene  that  not  one  of 
them  ever  forgets.  Poor  Nyamona,  to  whom  Mr. 
Lillington  has  told  the  sad  truth,  is  sobbing  bitterly 
but  noiselessly  in  a  distant  corner,  for,  having  been 


92  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

cautioned  that  an  outburst  of  any  kind  may  prove 
hurtful  to  the  chief,  she  bravely  controls  every  par- 
oxysm. Near  his  father's  head  Sebubi  has  taken 
up  his  position,  and  stands  there  weak,  trembling 
and  smitten  with  terror  in  the  consciousueas  of  the 
approach  of  some  dread  jiresence,  of  some  impend- 
ing danger,  he  knows  not  what.  Plow  truly  awful 
is  the  march  of  this  fearful  shadow  of  death  to  him 
whose  groping,  darkened  soul  can  grasp  no  light 
from  the  Beyond ! 

"Come  nearer,  good  father,"  the  chief  says  faint- 
ly. "  Put  out  your  hand  and  touch  Bubi,  that  he 
may  know  you  are  here.  Oh,  alas  is  me!  The 
soul  of  Bubi  is  undone  !  O  friend  of  my  heart's 
best  love  !  if  I  had  but  hearkened  unto  the  words 
you  spoke !" 

"  It  is  not  too  late  yet,  Bubi,  poor  friend,"  the 
missionary  returns  in  soothing  but  resolute  tones  as 
he  bends  nearer  and  lays  his  hand  upon  that  of 
the  chief. 

"'Not  too  late'!  Oh,  say  you  so,  my  father? 
Then,  indeed,  does  the  soul  of  Bubi  leap  at  the 
words.  Tell  me,  tell  me  of  the  great  God  you 
serve,  and  to  whom  you  were  ever  trying  to  keep 
Bubi  faithful;  is  he  not  very,  very  angry?" 

"  I  doubt  not  that  he  is  angry,  Bubi,"  the  mis- 
sionary says  firmly,  but  in  the  same  kind  tones, 
"  but  he  will  not  long  remain  so  if  Bubi  will  tell 
him  how  sorry  he  is  that  he  has  offended  him." 

"  Oh,  he  must  know — he  nuist  know  how  Bubi 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  93 

hates  the  strong  hard  head,  the  sinful  heart,  tliat 
led  him  to  pay  no  heed  to  the  good  father's  en- 
treaty. The  words  of  Mopaue  were  as  the  blast 
that  rushes  through  the  forests.  They  drove  poor 
Bubi  before  them  as  the  leaves  are  blown  hither  and 
thither  upon  the  ground.  The  words  of  Mopane 
were  tempting  and  as  the  honey  that  drops  from 
the  trees.  The  words  of  Mopane  were  deceitful 
as  the  flashing  of  the  lake  that  is  no  lake  within 
the  desert.*  Oh  that  Bubi  had  never  hearkened 
thereto  !  But  if  it  is  true,  as  the  good  father  says, 
that  the  great  God  will  forgive,  then  is  Bubi  no 
longer  afraid  to  go  to  him." 

"Yes,  Bubi,  my  friend,  he  will  forgive.  The 
great  God  of  whom  I  have  told  you  is  both  patient 
and  long-suiferiug,  and  he  that  cometh  unto  him 
repentant  and  believing  he  will  in  no  wise  cast 
out." 

"And  will  he  open  to  Bubi  the  gate  of  the 
mighty  village  where  he  dwells?  or  will  he  leave 
him  without,  to  wander  alone  upon  the  great  black 
hills  Avhere  the  wolves  are  and  where  the  vultures 
wait  to  pick  the  bones  of  those  the  wolves  de- 
stroy?" 

"  If  Bubi  goes  believing  and  repentant  and 
knocks  upon  the  gate,  humbly  asking  admittance 
in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  gave 
himself  to  die  upon  the  cross  for  all  such  as  Bubi, 
then  will  the  gate  be  opened.  O  my  friend !" 
*  The  mirage. 


94  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

goes  on  the  missionary  with  impassioned  fervor  as 
he  hcnils  nearer  and  clasps  the  hand  of  the  dying 
chief  in  his,  *' cannot  you  understand  tiiat  while  he 
hates  siu  and  condemns  it,  he  is  yet  Love  itself? 
He  forgives  because  he  loves  to  forgive.  Leau 
upon  him,  Bubi — lean  hard,  my  frieud,  and  trust 
him  to  the  end,  even  when  your  feet  are  sinking 
deep  within  the  mire  over  on  the  other  shore.  If 
all  seems  dark  at  first,  it  will  but  be  a  trial  of  your 
faith.  Oh,"  he  goes  on  in  the  same  impassioned 
tones,  turning  his  head  as  though  to  address  those 
about  him — "■  oh,  icheii  will  man  begin  to  realize 
that  *  he  that  committeth  siu  is  the  servant  of 
sin,'  and  that  the '  wages  of  sin  is  death'?  But  thank 
God  for  the  blessed  privilege  of  repentance  !  Thank 
God,  too,  above  all  else,  for  the  precious  *  blood  of 
Jesus  Christ  that  cleanseth  from  all  siu  ' !  Oh  the 
inestimable  gift  of  that  eternal  life  we  have  through 
Jesus  Christ  our  Lord  !" 

''  Oh,"  cries  Bubi  suddenly,  striving  to  mise 
himself  upon  his  elbow,  ''I  see  a  light,  a  little 
light !"  But  it  must  have  been  the  light  breaking 
upon  the  other  shore,  since  poor  Bubi's  sightless 
eyes  will  nevermore  catch  a  ray  upon  earth. 

A  few  moments  he  lies  silent,  then  as  a  look  of 
indescribable  gladness  steals  across  his  poor  burnt 
face,  he  makes  a  feeble  effort  to  clasp  his  hands 
together,  while  his  lips  murmur  faintly,  "Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  I  believe  in  the  forgiveness  of  sins." 

He  lies  quiet  after  this  ibr  perhaps  five  or  ten 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  95 

minutes.  Then  rousing  himself  once  more,  he  asks 
suddenly  for  EI  lie.  She  comes  tearful  and  silent 
to  his  side,  for  for  the  time  she  is  so  overcome  as 
to  be  incapable  of  speech. 

"  Bubi  wants  to  touch  the  hand  for  the  last  time 
and  say  good-bye  to  the  child  of  the  good  father — 
to  the  little  missy  with  the  brave  heart  and  the 
steady  eyes  who  has  told  Bubi  and  Bubi's  people 
so  many  beautiful  things  of  the  great  God  who 
lives  on  high.  Child  of  the  good  father,  Bubi 
wants  to  thank  you  for  the  earnest  words  and  for 
all  the  gentle  ways  ;  he  wants  to  beg  you  tiiat  when 
he  is  gone  you  will  still  talk  to  his  people,  that  you 
will  seek  to  win  them  from  the  old  evil  ways,  that 
you  Avill  still  tell  them  of  the  loving  God  who  smiles 
when  they  do  what  he  wishes  them  to  do,  and  who 
is  very  angry  when  they  disobey.  And  Sebubi — 
Sebubi,  who  is  to  take  the  place  of  Bubi  when  he 
is  gone — will  you  not  say  again  and  again  to  him 
the  words  that  will  make  him  a  good  son  to  his 
mother  and  an  upright  chief  to  his  people  ?  Will 
the  little  missy  do  what  poor  Bubi  asks?" 

''  I  will  try,  Bubi — oh,  I  will  try  with  all  my 
heart,"  Ellie  answere  between  her  sobs. 

"And  Nyamona?  Will  the  child  of  the  good 
father  be  very  kind  to  poor  Nyamona,  whose  soul 
will  be  very  sore  when  the  soul  of  Bubi  leaves 
it?" 

"I  will  do  everything  I  can  for  Nyamona, 
Bubi." 


96  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

"Then  the  great  God  bless  the  little  missy,  and 
when  the  message  shall  come  for  hor  own  white 
soul,  may  it  fly  as  the  dove  flies  straight  to  the 
sweet-scented  groves  in  the  garden  of  the  King's 
palace.  Oh,  there  will  be  no  waiting  at  the  gate 
for  little  missy.  Her  white  wings  will  bear  her 
over  the  wall,  and  the  King's  Sou  himself  will 
guide  her  to  the  house  of  his  Father.  The  child 
of  the  good  father  has  spoken  very  bravely  to  Bubi 
and  to  Bubi's  people ;  with  her  own  mouth  she  has 
told  them  many  things  that  have  sunk  into  their 
hearts  as  the  seed  sinks  into  the  moist  earth  ;  there- 
fore wall  the  great  God,  in  whose  service  she  has 
spoken,  reward  her.  God  bless  you !  God  bless 
you !  brave-mouthed,  white-souled  child  of  the 
good  father — God  bless  you !" 

After  calling  his  son  to  him  and  giving  him 
many  words  of  warning  and  of  wise  counsel,  and 
taking  a  most  touching  adieu  of  the  grief-stricken 
Nyamona,  Bubi  lies  silent  again  for  many  moments. 
A  little  later  the  same  smile  they  have  previously 
noted  gathers  about  his  lips,  while  he  murmurs 
over  and  over,  "  The  forgiveness  of  sins !  the  for- 
giveness of  sins  !  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  I  believe  in 
the  forgiveness  of  sins." 

Ten  minutes  thereafter  he  is  dead,  with  the  same 
smile  beautifying  all  his  poor  burnt  face.  Al- 
though the  whole  village  is  willing,  nay  desirous, 
that  over  Bubi's  body  shall  be  performed  the  rites 
of  Christian  burial,  yet  they  at  the  same  time  claim 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  97 

the  privilege  of  interring  him  in  accordance  with 
the  customs  of  his  fathers.  He  has  been  a  great 
chief,  they  declare,  one  of  the  greatest  the  Ba- 
mangwatos  have  ever  had,  and  he  must  therefore 
be  buried  with  all  the  honors  and  ceremonies  befit- 
ting his  rank.  To  this  Mr.  Lillington  makes  no 
dissent.  It  can  do  no  harm,  he  tells  himself,  to 
allow  these  poor  savages  to  find  what  solace  they 
can  for  their  grief  in  burying  their  chief  as  his 
fathers  for  long  ages  before  him  have  been  buried. 
So  that  Bubi's  soul  has  found  eternal  peace  in  the 
land  beyond,  it  cannot  matter  in  what  way  his 
body,  the  mere  shell,  the  husk  of  life,  is  given 
back  to  the  dust  from  whence  it  came. 

As  soon,  therefore,  as  Bubi  is  dead  he  is  dressed 
in  tlie  full  costume  of  a  Bamangwato  chief.  His 
club  and  shield  are  then  laid  beside  him,  and  he 
is  placed  in  a  sitting  position  upon  the  same  couch 
of  skins  Avhere  he  has  died.  His  arms  are  folded 
across  his  breast,  his  feet  drawn  up  and  his  head 
bent  forward  until  his  chin  touches  his  knees.  A 
glossy  leopard-skin  is  finally  thrown  over  him,  and 
two  vessels  half  full  of  water  are  set,  one  on  either 
side. 

From  the  time  that  Bubi  is  placed  in  this  posi- 
tion until  he  is  borne  forth  to  his  interment,  which 
is  near  sundown  on  the  third  day  from  that  on 
which  he  has  died,  there  are  kept  up,  at  intervals 
of  an  hour  each,  the  solemn  roll  of  the  drum  and 
the  beating  of  several  rude  instruments. 
7 


98  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

On  the  morning  of  the  fii'st  day  after  the  death  a 
great  feast  is  spread  under  tlie  trees  in  front  of  the 
hut,  of  whieli  all  partake.  Late  in  the  afternoon 
of  the  third  day  the  body  is  borne  in  sad  and  slow 
procession  to  its  last  resting-place.  The  grave  has 
been  dug  by  itself  not  far  from  the  centre  of  the 
valley  that  lies  without  the  mission-station,  and  is 
some  seventy-five  or  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
mound  whore  Mrs.  Lillington  and  her  children 
are  buried,  and  between  it  and  the  native  cemetery. 
Just  above  it  is  a  widespreading  tree  with  deep- 
green  foliage.  It  seems  to  stand  as  a  lonely  senti- 
nel, keeping  watch  beside  the  dead  in  their  silent 
slumbers. 

The  grave  is  dug  six  feet  deep  and  three  square, 
and  when  finished  the  interior  is  rubbed  with  the 
large  bulbs  of  a  certain  kind  of  wild  flower.  The 
bottom  is  then  sprinkled  with  water  fi-om  a  bowl 
into  whicii  the  branches  of  a  tree  that  bears  red 
berries  have  previously  been  trailed.  The  grave 
being  in  readiness,  the  body  of  Bubi  is  placed 
therein,  still  in  a  sitting  posture,  with  the  face 
toward  the  north.  Mr.  Lilliugton's  voice  is 
broken  with  emotion  as  with  uncovered  head  he 
reads  the  deep  and  impressive  words  of  the  Chris- 
tian burial  service  : 

"  I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life :  he  that 
believeth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead  yet  shall  he 
live ;  and  whosoever  liveth  and  believeth  in  me 
shall  never  die,   .  .  . 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  99 

"  Lord,  thou  hast  been  our  dwelliug-phice  in  all 
generations. 

"  Before  the  mountains  were  brought  forth,  or 
ever  thou  hadst  formed  the  earth  and  the  world, 
even  from  everlasting  to  everlasting  thou  art 
God." 

As  the  words  of  the  fervent  prayer  he  offers  up 
at  the  close  of  the  reading  fall  from  the  minister's 
lips,  he  steps  slowly  backward  and  leaves  the  people 
free  to  carry  out  whatever  may  be  their  will  in  re- 
gard to  the  further  burial-ceremonies  of  their  chief. 
Two  men  now  approach  to  place  within  the  hands 
of  the  corpse  of  the  chief  his  club  and  shield,  which 
during  the  progress  of  the  body  to  the  grave  have 
lain  beside  it  on  the  bier.  This  undertaking,  how- 
ev^er,  is  hard  to  accomplish,  as  the  poor,  powerless 
hands  of  the  corpse  again  and  again  refuse  to  do 
what  is  required  of  them.  But  finally,  after  a 
great  deal  of  propping  up  and  moving  of  the  hands 
into  first  one  position  and  then  another,  it  is  accom- 
plished. A  number  of  eagle-feathers  are  now  placed 
within  the  hair,  the  whole  body  being  at  length 
covered  with  a  kaross,  or  skin  rug,  most  beauti- 
fully dressed. 

This  done,  four  of  the  men  lower  themselves 
into  the  grave  and  begin  packing  tightly  and  care- 
fully about  the  body  a  fine  clay  previously  pre- 
pared. This  work  is  kept  up  until  the  clay  reaches 
the  mouth.  The  earth  is  then  thrown  in  by  means 
of  bowls  in  the  hands  of  the  women. 


100  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

All  the  spaces  iu  the  grave  bonig  now  filled,  a 
number  of  sprigs  of  acacia  with  several  long  stems 
of  grass  are  ])lact'(l  directly  over  the  chiePs  head 
and  packed  about  with  the  earth  to  keep  them  in 
position.  When  the  grave  is  entirely  filled  the 
ends  of  these  are  left  exposed  in  the  centre  of  the 
mound.  All  this  being  completed,  several  bowls 
of  water  are  poured  upon  the  grave  by  the  women, 
who  cry  as  they  do  so,  "Pnla!  jiula!  water!  water!" 
following  the  cries  by  a  mournful  kind  of  dirge,  the 
refrain  of  which  is  "  Yo !  yo  !  yo  !"  All  the  while 
they  are  doing  this  the  spectators  clap  their  hands 
silently  as  though  applauding.  This  finished,  the 
people  withdraw  and  leave  the  grave  to  poor  Nya- 
mona  and  the  chie  's  daughters,  who  at  once  pros- 
trate themselves  upon  it  and  give  vent  to  the  most 
distressing  lamentations. 

On  the  fifth  day  after  Bubi's  burial  the  mound 
is  enclosed  by  slabs  of  stone  cemented  together. 
A  canopy  on  stout  poles  is  also  raised  above  it, 
while  innumerable  polished  stones,  bits  of  colored 
earthenware  and  the  skulls  of  various  animals  are 
placed  about  the  slabs. 

Many  and  grave  apprehensions  now  fill  the  wak- 
ing hours  of  Mr.  Lillington,  while  his  sleep  is  con- 
stantly troubled  by  torturing  dreams.  Bubi  is  dead 
and  Sebubi  has  succeeded  him  in  the  chieftaincy; 
and  well  does  the  good  missionary  know  the  effect 
this  intelligen(!e  will  have  upon  the  Zulus  when  it 
reaches  them.    It  may  take  weeks,  however,  for  them 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  101 

to  hear  of  it,  while,  on  the  otlier  hand,  they  may 
have  already  heard  of  it.  This  depends  upon 
whether  they  really  have  spies  and  scouts  out,  as 
has  been  apprehended.  But  all  the  same,  they  will 
hear  of  it  only  too  soon,  the  missionary  thinks 
with  a  sinking  heart. 

So  far,  no  sign  of  the  Zulus  has  been  seen  any- 
where near  the  mission-station,  and  but  for  the 
threatening  messages  that  have  continued  to  come 
with  unpleasant  regularity  through  the  various 
native  traders  passing  back  and  forth,  Mr.  Lil- 
lington  would  look  upon  his  anxious  fears  of  the 
past  three  weeks  as  only  the  tormenting  fancies 
of  some  fevered  dream. 

Poor  Bubi's  tragic  death  is  deeply  and  uni- 
versally mourned.  Even  Mopane  seems  greatly 
changed  thereby,  and  Mr.  Lillington  thinks  with 
some  compunction  that  he  may,  after  all,  have 
misjudged  him  in  regard  to  the  share  he  has  had 
in  the  chief's  untimely  taking  oif.  Doubtless, 
he  reasons,  if  Mopane  had  intended  the  explosion 
of  powder  to  injure  Bubi,  he  would  have  been 
careful  himself  in  keeping  farther  away  from  it. 
His  own  hands  and  arms  have  been  severely  burned. 
His  horribly  tattooed  face,  too,  is  rendered  still 
more  hideous  by  several  scars  that  are  left  upon 
it  when  the  burnt  flesh  has  healed. 

Somehow,  in  spite  of  the  repentant  protestations 
of  Mopane  and  the  deep  remorse  he  seems  to  feel 
in  regard  to  being  the  cause  of  })oor  Bubi's  death, 


102  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

Mr.  Lillington  cannot  trust  him.  There  is  some- 
thing in  his  face  and  in  his  manner  that  docs  not 
bear  the  stamp  of  sincerity,  and  ahhongh  Mr.  Lil- 
lington does  not  quite  believe  that  Bubi's  death  has 
been  intentional  on  Mopane's  part,  yet  he  cannot 
help  but  feel  tiiat  Mopane  is  not  so  sorry  as  he 
seems.  Then,  too,  some  of  Mopane's  movements 
of  late  have  grown  a  little  suspicious.  Try  as 
hard  as  he  can,  Mr.  Lillington  finds  himself  un- 
able to  get  rid  of  a  feeling  of  vague  uneasiness  that 
has  taken  possession  of  him  in  regard  to  Mopane. 

''  Is  it  possible  that  this  man  is  really  a  traitor 
at  heart?"  the  missionary  asks  himself  again  and 
again.  "Could  he  do  a  tliiiiir  so  mean  as  to  sell 
his  own  people  into  the  hands  of  their  enemies?" 

Sometimes  he  feels  as  though  he  must  speak  out 
and  accuse  him  before  the  tribe,  but  when  he  recalls 
that  he  has,  after  all,  nothing  with  which  to  accuse 
him  beyond  mere  suspicion,  cooler  judgment  pre- 
vails. The  man  may  really  be  entirely  innocent 
despite  the  compromising  circumstances  that  sur- 
round him.  If  this  were  the  case,  his  accusation 
would  doubtless  only  result  in  the  bringing  about 
of  a  state  of  affairs  not  at  all  to  be  desired. 

In  the  mean  time,  despite  the  sad  interruption 
of  Bubi's  death,  Mr.  Lillington  and  the  boys,  aided 
by  Mazika  and  Pitsane,  have  been  busy  stocking  the 
cave  with  a  view  to  its  future  occupancy.  They  have 
also  made  ample  provision  for  a  journey  of  several 
days  across  the  jilains  in  case  such  a  one  should 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  103 

become  necessary.  The  wagou  and  sixteen  of  tlie 
best  salted  oxen  have  already  been  conveyed  thither, 
with  enough  provisions  to  last  a  party  of  a  dozen 
or  more  several  weeks.  There  is  also  a  good  sup- 
ply of  bedding,  cooking  utensils  and  many  other 
useful  articles,  including  a  change  of  clothing  for 
each  member  of  the  family.  The  oxen,  too,  are 
well  provided  for,  not  only  in  the  supply  of  food 
stored  away  for  them  in  the  cave,  but  also  in  the 
amount  of  pasturage  the  upper  end  of  the  canon 
affords  with  its  many  waving  and  luxuriant  grasses. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  For  lo,  the  wicked  bend  the  bow.'' 

ON  the  uiglit  of  the  tenth  day  after  Bubi's 
burial  tlie  station  is  visited  by  one  of  tliose 
terrible  rain-  and  thunder-storms  which  seem  ])re- 
eminently  to  distinguish  Africa.  But  so  terrible 
is  the  one  that  now  breaks  upon  the  village  that 
all  others  that  have  })receded  it  seem  as  nothing. 
It  begins  just  as  the  evening  services  at  the  kotla 
are  concluded,  and  continues  with  but  little  abate- 
ment for  fully  an  hour.  The  night  is  rendered 
absolutely  dreadful  by  the  terrific  peals  of  thunder 
and  the  vivid  and  startling  flashes  of  lightning, 
while  the  rain  ])ours  in  torrents  and  the  angry 
winds  go  shrieking  by. 

But,  though  the  storm  is  so  terrible,  little  dam- 
age is  done  by  it  beyond  the  blowing  down  of  one 
or  two  huts,  the  partial  unroofing  of  the  school- 
house,  and  the  killing  of  a  few  cattle  by  the 
lightning.  Yet  it  has  a  most  demoralizing  effect 
upon  the  poor  Bamangwatos.  Coming  so  soon  after 
Bubi's  death,  they  look  upon  it  as  the  herald  of 
some  far  worse  calamity.  In  vain  Mr.  Lilling- 
ton  tries  to  reason  with  them,  and  to  assure  them 

104 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  106 

that  the  storm  has  come  only  through  natural 
causes.  The  great  God  is  very  angry  with  them, 
they  tremblingly  declare.  First  he  has  taken  Bubi 
from  them,  and  now  he  has  caused  to  break  over 
them  the  mi«;htv'  rushino;  and  roaring  of  his  ele- 
mcnts,  during  which  the  earth  has  been  dressed  iu 
fire  and  the  voice  of  the  thunder  is  more  terrible 
than  that  of  all  the  wild  beasts  upon  the  hills. 
Next  he  will  send  some  awful  thing  that  will  sweep 
them  all  out  of  existence. 

To  add  further  to  Mr.  Lillington's  anxiety,  the 
news  is  now  brought  to  the  village  that  a  large 
band  of  Zulus  had  again  been  seen  the  evening  be- 
fore, and  not  more  than  four  or  five  miles  from  the 
mission-station.  It  is  true  they  may  not  be  a  hostile 
band,  but  only  a  company  on  their  way  down  to  the 
Cape  bent  solely  on  trading  pui-poses.  Bands  of 
this  kind  have  passed  through  Bubi's  territory  be- 
fore, and  are  likely  to  pass  again  at  almost  any  time. 
But  these  reflections,  nevertheless,  do  not  diminish 
Mr.  Lillington's  anxiety  nor  cause  him  to  delay  a 
moment  in  getting  his  little  garrison  in  readiness 
for  the  attack  that  may  come  now  at  almost  any 
moment. 

As  the  evening  closes  in  he  has  done  all  that  can 
be  done.  The  cannon  has  been  cleaned  and  reload- 
ed, the  guns  divided,  the  spears  and  battle-axes 
newly  polished  and  sharpened  and  everything 
placed  iu  readiness.  All  along  the  walls  sentinels 
are    mounted,    with   the   number   doubled   at   the 


lOG  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

weaker  points.  Mr.  Lillington  has  in  the  mean 
time  talked  with  Hope  and  Ellie  upon  the  same 
subject  previously  broac-hed  to  the  two  youths  in 
the  cave.  They  know  now  what  is  his  desire  in 
case  the  enemy  should  succeed  in  entering  the  sta- 
tion. With  the  tears  streaming;  down  their  cheeks 
they  entreat  him  to  require  anythini;  else  of  them 
but  this,  declaring,  as  the  youths  have  done,  that 
they  would  rather  die  with  him  than  save  their 
lives  by  dosei'ting  him.  It  is  long  ere  he  c^n  re- 
store them  to  any  degree  of  calmness  or  bring  theni 
to  see  that  their  refusal,  instead  of  benefiting  him, 
will  only  render  his  ])osition  the  more  trying ;  and 
it  is  not  until  he  assures  them  that,  after  all,  there 
may  be  chances  of  escape  for  him  that  they  consent 
to  do  as  he  wishes,  though  still  sadly  against  their 
own  feelings. 

The  signal  for  them  to  leave  the  mission-house 
for  the  cave  has  now  been  agreed  upon,  and  it  is 
to  be  three  sharp,  rapid  strokes  of  the  church- 
bell. 

"Must  you  go  out  again  to-night,  father?" 
Ellie  questions  of  him  anxiously,  as,  having  fin- 
ished supper  and  having  had  prayers,  he  is  taking 
up  his  hat  to  leave  the  room. 

"Yes,  my  child.  I  have  asked  every  man  in 
the  village,  except  those  on  guard,  to  meet  me  at 
this  hour  at  the  kotla.  There  are  affairs  of  grave 
import  about  which  I  must  talk  to  them." 

"  Oh  how  I  wish  you  did  not  have  to  go !     I 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  107 

hope  you  will  not  think  me  weak  aud  childish,  fa- 
ther, but  somehow  I  feel  as  thougli  something  were 
going  to  happen  to-night — something  dreadful.  1 
try  to  tell  myself  that  it  is  only  the  result  of  the 
nervous  strain  in  which  I  have  been  all  day,  but  I 
can't  get  rid  of  the  feeling.  Please  don't  call  it 
foolish,  but  if  you  just  wouldn't  go  to  the  kotla  I 
would  feel  so  much  better." 

"  You  are  excited  and  nervous,  my  child,  as  you 
suggest.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  after  all  that 
has  been  talked  over  to-day.  Try  to  compose  your- 
self, my  dear.  We  know  not,  it  is  true,  what  a 
day  may  bring  forth,  but  there  assuredly  can  be  no 
more  danger  in  my  going  to  the  kotla  than  in  re- 
maining here." 

As  he  turns  to  leave  her  he  notes  that  her  eyes 
are  filling  with  tears.  Obeying  a  sudden  yearning, 
he  opens  his  arms  to  her.  With  a  little  cry  she 
springs  to  their  embrace ;  then  as  her  own  are 
clasped  about  his  neck  she  draws  his  head  down 
until  his  lips  meet  hers. 

'"  Good-bye,  father,"  she  says,  struggling  bravely 
with  her  emotion  as  she  kisses  him. 

"  You  mean  good-night,  my  dear  child  ?"  he 
says,  returning  the  caress.  "  But  there  is  no  need 
for  either  '  good-night '  or  '  good-bye,'  as  I  shall  re- 
turn before  your  bed -time." 

"  I  do  not  think  there  will  be  bed-time  for  any 
of  us  to-night,  dear  father,  except  the  children," 
she  says  sadly.    "  I,  for  one,  cannot  go  to  sleep 


1U8  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

when  danger  seems  so  near,  and  I  liave  heard  my 
brother  and  cousins  say  the  same." 

"  But  it  may  not  be  so  near  as  we  apprehend. 
We  have  seen  nothing  absohitely  to  warrant  this 
state  of  feeling.  AV^e  have  no  more  cause  to  ex- 
pect the  Zulus  to-night  than  we  have  had  any 
night  since  their  threats  began,"  he  says,  trying  to 
reassure  her ;  yet,  thinking  of  the  band  of  prowl- 
ing Matabele  seen  only  yesterday,  he  does  not 
himself  feel  as  composed  as  he  would  have  her 
believe. 

"Where  are  the  boys,  Ellie?"  he  stops  to 
question  as  he  again  starts  to  go  out. 

"They  are  in  the  sitting-room  with  Hope  and 
the  children." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  would  ask  Cuunyngham  to 
make  a  tour  of  the  walls  while  I  am  at  the  kotla, 
and  report  to  me  on  my  return." 

"  And  if  he  finds  anything  amiss,  father,  shall 
he  not  speak  to  you  at  once  in  regard  to  it?" 

"Yes,  dear,  if  it  is  anything  of  grave  import." 

When  his  uncle's  request  is  made  known  to 
him,  Cunnyngham  goes  at  once  to  attend  to  it. 

He  has  been  out  of  the  room  barely  fifteen 
minutes  when  Ellie  is  nnich  surprised  to  hear 
him  returning.  At  sound  of  his  footsteps  coming 
rapidly  across  the  veranda  she  unconsciously  rises 
to  meet  him.  Cunnyngham  is  greatly  excited, 
but  seems  striving  to  overcome  as  much  of  it  as 
he  can  before  speaking. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  109 

"  Ellie,"  he  questions  hurriedly  as  he  comes  up 
beside  her,  "do  you  think  uncle  could  have  put 
Mopane  on  guard  at  the  front  gate?" 

Ellie  starts  visibly  at  the  words,  while  her  face 
pales. 

"  I  am  sure  he  did  not,"  she  returns  quickly. 
"  I  know  father's  opinion  of  Mopane  too  well  to 
believe  for  a  moment  that  he  would  have  given 
him  any  such  post  of  trust." 

"Well,  he  is  there,  all  the  same.  I  saw  him 
with  my  own  eyes  not  ten  minutes  since." 

"  There  surely  must  be  some  mistake,"  E|lie  says 
again,  her  anxiety  deepening.  "Are  you  certain, 
Cunnyngham,  that  it  was  Mopane  you  saw  at 
the  gate?" 

"  *  Certain,'  cousin  ?  Why,  as  certain  as  that  I 
am  looking  at  you  now.  He  was  on  the  platform 
at  the  right  of  the  great  gate  and  peering  over  the 
wall.  What  makes  me  more  anxious  than  any- 
thing else  is  that  there  seemed  to  be  no  sentinel 
on  the  other  platform.  Mopane,  so  far  as  I  could 
see,  was  alone." 

"  And  did  he  see  you  ?" 

"  He  did  not.  Somehow,  I  felt  that  it  would  be 
best  for  me  not  to  show  myself.  Even  if  he  were 
there  rightfully,  I  knew  he  would  resent  any  in- 
spection on  my  part,  he  is  so  conceited  and  head- 
strong." 

"Oh,  I  am  sure  something  is  dreadfully  wrong," 
Hope  cries  at  this  moment,  starting  up  from  her 


110  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

chair  and  throwing  her  arms  with  a  sudden  move- 
ment about  Ellie's  shoulders.  "  We  all  know  what 
uncle  thinks  of  Mopane,  and  if  he  is  at  the  gate, 
rest  assured  my  uncle  did  not  put  him  there." 

"  No,  I  feel  satisfied  my  father  did  not,"  Pierce 
here  speaks  up,  ''and  he  must  be  informed  of  it 
at  once." 

"Just  what  I  had  concluded,"  Cunnyngham 
says.  "  But,"  after  a  moment's  hesitancy,  "  will 
uncle  like  me  to  disturb  him  with  such  a  thing  as 
this?" 

"  Yes,  oh  yes  he  will !"  cries  Ellie  excitedly. 
"  Father  must  know  it,  and  at  once.  Do  not 
delay  a  moment." 

As  she  speaks  she  pushes  him  gently  toward  the 
door,  but  at  the  very  moment  there  comes  a  sound, 
or  rather  a  commingling  of  sounds,  that  strikes 
terror  to  every  heart.  It  is  the  noise  of  many 
hurrying,  trampling  feet,  hoarse  wild  shouts,  blood- 
curdling shrieks;  then  the  sickening  ring  of  steel, 
and  then  the  discharge  of  musketry. 

"God  help  us!"  Ellie  cries,  staggering  back 
against  the  door.  "  It  is  the  Zulus,  and  they  are 
even  now  within  the  village." 

An  agonized  shriek  bursts  from  Hope,  and  for 
a  moment  she  looks  as  though  she  were  going  to 
faint.  The  next  instant  Cunnyngham's  arm  is 
around  her  and  he  is  holding  her  tightly  against 
him,  while  his  own  heart  throbs  wildly  and  his 
face  is  pale  and  set. 


A  STOEY  OF  AFRICA.  Ill 

At  Ellie's  cry  Mamochisane  has  attempted  to 
rise  from  her  chair,  has  fallen  back  again,  and 
is  now  rocking  aimlessly  to  and  fro,  moaning  to 
herself,  while  the  baby,  aroused  from  its  light  slum- 
ber, is  sobbing  affrightedly  against  her  shoulder. 
Marvin  and  Henrietta  too  are  both  crying  bitterly 
and  clinging  to  their  sister's  dress  as  though  its 
folds  at  present  constitute  the  only  ark  of  safety 
left  them  on  earth.     It  is  a  pathetic  scene. 

"  Yes,  it  is  the  Zulus,"  says  Cunnyngham  in  a 
stifled  voice.  "  They  are  even  now  at  the  kotla. 
Mopane  has  proved  the  traitor  and  let  them  in. 
Now  I  know  why  he  was  so  intently  peering  over 
the  wall.  The  Zulus  were  even  then  hiding  in  the 
ditch  and  awaiting  his  signal  to  enter.  Oh,  if  my 
uncle  had  but  heeded  Captain  Murray's  warning 
about  that  ditch  !  My  God !  those  cries  are  horri- 
ble, and  many  of  them  are  cries  of  women  and  chil- 
dren.— Let  me  go,  Hope.  I  must  go  to  my  uncle : 
I  cannot  stand  here  and  think  of  him  as  being 
butchered." 

At  these  words  an  agonized  cry  breaks  from  both 
Ellie  and  Pierce. 

"  Oh,  my  father !"  the  latter  cries  wildly  as  he 
rushes  toward  the  door ;  "  I  must  help  him  or  else 
die  with  him." 

"  Yes,  go,  brother,  go,"  Ellie  urges.  "  We  can- 
not, oh  we  cannot  do  what  he  has  asked." 

As  Pierce  springs  through  the  doorway  Cun- 
nyngham is  close  beside  him.     Both  are  half  way 


112  CHILDRkN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

a(Toss  the  veranda  when  .suddenly  there  come  the 
three  .sharp,  distinct  .strokes  of  the  church-bell. 

Cuunynghani  stops  as  though  a  heavy  hand  has 
fallen   upon  him, 

*'  Oh  sister,  cousin,"  he  cries,  springing  back  to- 
ward them,  *'  I  must  do  as  my  uncle  entreated.  It 
is  his  own  hand  that  has  rung  the  bell,  and  I  mu.st 
obey.  He  made  me  promi.se  him  again  and  again 
that  I  would  uot  di.sobey.  It  will  kill  him  to 
know  that  you  are  left  to  the  mercy  of  the  sav- 
ages. Oh,  come,  I  beseech  you.  There  is  no  time 
to  lo.se.     Come,  all  you  !     Quick  !  let  us  go  !" 

But  Pierce  has  not  turned  back.  He  has  kept 
straight  on.  At  the  head  of  the  short  flight  of 
steps  leading  down  into  the  yard  he  comes  in  sudden 
and  violent  contact  with  some  one  coming  up  with 
the  same  ha.ste  that  he  is  going  down.  It  is  the 
Hottentot  Pit.sane.  The  little  attire  that  he  wears 
is  in  wild  di.soiVler,  while  the  gleaming  black  skin 
of  his  arms  and  breast  is  splashed  with  blood. 
Without  a  word  he  seizes  Pierce  and  drags  him 
back  into  the  room. 

"  The  good  father  has  sent  me  to  his  children," 
he  said  as  soon  as  he  could  command  his  breath. 
"  The  gates  of  the  village  have  been  opened  by 
the  traitor  dog  Mopane,  who  through  his  lies 
gained  the  places  of  Sansawe  and  Motlatsa.  Thus 
the  wolves  have  crept  upon  the  lions  as  with  their 
backs  turned  they  sat  within  the  kotla.  The  num- 
bers of  the  Matabele  to  the  Bamangwatos  are  as  five 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  113 

to  one ;  therefore  it  will  go  hard  with  the  Baraaag- 
watos.  But  the  good  father  is  brave,  his  heart  is 
as  the  heart  of  the  great  rhinoceros,  and  his  peo- 
ple will  fight  like  warriors  and  men.  But  the 
hand  of  the  good  father  cannot  be  steady  in  battle 
until  he  knows  that  those  who  are  dearer  to  him 
than  the  eyes  with  which  he  sees  or  the  ears  with 
which  he  hears  are  beyond  the  wolves'  fangs. 
Therefore  he  has  sent  Pitsane  to  see  that  his  chil- 
dren are  safe  within  the  cave." 

"  We  must  do  as  my  uncle  wishes,"  says  Cun- 
nyugham  with  decision.  "  There  is  no  use  to  hesi- 
tate longer.  If  we  delay  all  may  be  lost. — Pierce, 
dear  cousin,  bear  yourself  like  a  man  and  think 
of  your  sister !" 

The  terrible  sounds  in  the  direction  of  the  kotla 
have  increased  tenfold,  though  it  is  not  so  much  the 
cries  and  shrieks  now  as  the  sickening  ring  of  steel 
and  the  deafening  volleys  of  the  musketry.  It  is 
a  haud-to-hand  battle,  and  because  of  the  over- 
whelming numbers  of  the  enemy  and  the  disad- 
vantage under  which  the  Bamangwatos  have  been 
caught,  it  grows  fiercer  and  more  desperate  for  the 
latter  every  moment.  It  is  well  that  with  all  they 
surmise  the  heartsore  little  band  now  creeping  noise- 
lessly along  within  the  shadow  of  the  garden-wall 
are  far  from  suspecting  anything  like  the  real  state 
of  the  case.  If  they  did,  it  is  doubtful  if  even 
with  all  Pitsane's  effort  they  could  keep  from  rush- 
ing back. 
8 


114  CHILDRKN  OF  THE  KALAUART: 

Never  has  the  way  to  the  cave  seemed  so  long  to 
tlie  two  youths,  who  for  the  time  have  manfully 
suppressed  their  own  emotion  for  sake  of  the  gen- 
tle, suffering  girls,  whose  chief  protectors  they  have 
so  suddenly  become.  But  the  cave  is  reached  at 
last,  and  they  at  once  set  about  the  kindling  of  a 
fire  in  order  to  dispel  the  darkness,  which  in  tiieir 
present  state  of  mind  seems  all  the  more  oppressive. 

Pitsanc  stays  by  them  helping,  but  as  soon  as  he 
sees  that  they  are  as  comfortably  provided  for  as 
they  could  be  under  the  circumstances,  he  suddenly 
raises  himself  from  before  the  fire,  exclaiming, 

"  Now  will  Pitsane  to  the  village  to  see  how 
fare  the  brave  lions  the  cowardly  M'olves  have 
attacked." 

"  If  you  are  going  to  return  to  the  village.  Pit- 
sane,"  Pierce  says  with  sudden  resolution,  "  then 
I  am  going  with  you.  I  miwd  know  something 
of  my  father." 

"Do  not  think  of  such  a  thing,"  Cunnyngham 
interposes.  "  It  will  be  the  height  of  rashness. 
Why,  by  this  time  the  whole  village  is  swarming 
with  Zulus,  and  wherever  you  may  go  you  will  be 
certain  to  be  seen  and  slain." 

But  it  seems  useless  to  reason  with  Pierce.  His 
heart  is  sick  with  auxiety  over  his  father's  uncer- 
tain fate,  and  even  death  in  its  most  dreadful  form 
would  be  preferable  to  his  present  feelings.  His 
sister  too,  beside  herself  with  grief  and  solicitude, 
is  urging  him  to  go,  not  seeming  to  realize  in  her 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  115 

distracted  state  just  wliat  it  is  to  which  she  is 
sending  him.  As  Pierce  goes  out  behind  Pitsane, 
Cunuyugham's  eyes  sadly  follow  him.  He  expects 
uever  to  see  his  cousin  again  in  life. 

"  Try  to  be  as  cautious  as  you  can,  Pierce,"  he 
urges,  "  and  do  not  give  your  life  rashly." 

He  follows  them  to  the  entrance  to  speak  these 
words,  with  his  hand  lingering  on  Pierce's  shoulder 
some  minutes  after  the  words  are  spoken.  After 
watching  them  as  far  as  he  can  see  them  through 
the  dense  shadows  of  the  gorge,  Cunnyngham  re- 
turns within,  replenishes  the  fire,  speaks  to  Ellie  and 
Hope  a  few  reassuring  words  which  he  is  far  from 
feeling,  and  then  glances  at  the  plain  little  silver 
watch  which  has  been  a  present  from  his  dead 
father. 

"  It  is  fifteen  minutes  after  ten,"  he  says  to  him- 
self— "  more  than  an  hour  and  half  since  we  left 
the  mission-house.  What  may  not  have  happened 
in  this  time!" 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"Tlie  Lord  will  have  mercy  upon  his  afflicted." 

IN  tlie  mean  time,  Pierce  and  Pitsane  are  stead- 
ily making  their  way  back  in  the  direction  of 
the  mission-station.  As  they  reach  the  top  of  the 
gorge  near  the  wall  of  banian  trees,  they  are  sur- 
prised at  the  intense  stillness  that  everywhere 
reigns.  At  first  they  think  it  must  be  the  lull 
before  some  renewed  outbreak,  but  as  they  stand 
listening  for  many  moments,  and  there  is  still  no 
sound  save  the  mournful  call  of  a  night-bird  and 
the  sighing  of  the  fitful  gusts  of  the  wind  as  it 
goes  sweeping  by,  their  astonishment  momenta- 
rily increases. 

"  What  can  it  mean,  Pitsane  ?"  Pierce  questions 
in  a  low  voice. 

"Pitsane  knows  not.  If  the  wolves  have  over- 
come the  lions,  then  there  ought  to  be  lights  and 
loud  shouts  and  the  sounds  of  a  great  feast.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  lions  have  driven  away  the 
wolves,  then  there  ought  to  be  at  least  lights  and 
some  sound  of  the  lions.  Instead  there  is  dark- 
ness everywhere  and  silence,  like  the  tombs  where 
the  dead  lie.  Hist!" 
116 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  117 

At  that  moment  the  wild  yelpings  of  dogs  break 
upon  their  ears.  The  sounds  seem  to  come  from 
the  hills  without  the  village. 

"  The  poor  brutes  are  driven  nearly  out  of  their 
senses  by  what  has  happened,"  says  Pierce.  "  Pit- 
sane,  I  don't  like  the  way  they  howl.  It  is  too 
terrible.     Oh,  what  can  have  happened?" 

" Hist !"  cautions  Pitsane.  "Speak  not  so  loud. 
Let  us  go  on  and  we  shall  soon  see." 

Moving  slowly  and  with  great  caution  toward 
the  house,  they  are  on  the  point  of  moving  around 
it  to  the  front  yard  when  a  figure  crouching  upon 
the  steps  of  the  back  veranda  catches  Pitsane's 
sharp  eyes. 

"  Hist !"  he  says  again  to  Pierce  as  he  lays  a  de- 
taining hand  upon  him ;  "some  one  moves  upon  the 
steps.     Be  still,  that  Pitsane  may  catch  the  sounds." 

A  moment  later  he  is  apparently  well  satisfied 
with  some  discovery  he  has  made,  for  he  says  to 
Pierce, 

"  There  is  but  one  of  them.  Pitsane  thought  at 
first  there  were  more.  Call,  but  make  your  voice 
low,  and  see  if  he  will  answer." 

"Who  is  there?"  Pierce  questions  in  cautious 
tones. 

"  Oh,  Massa  Pierce,"  cries  a  quick,  glad,  guttural 
voice,  "is  it  really  you,  Massa  Pierce?  It's  me, 
the  Kaffir,  Jim.     You  no  know  me?" 

"  Yes,  Jim,  I  know  you  now ;  but  how  came 
vou  here?" 


118  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

*' Me  go  at  sundown  to  dribc  in  stray  cattle. 
Cattle  wander  far.  Jim  liab  bad  time  gitt'n  cat- 
tle back.  Night  him  done  come  good  while  Tore 
Jim  reach  big  hill  by  village.  Dere  him  hear  big 
noise,  big  heap  o'  shontin',  mo'  big  heap  o'  hol- 
lerin',  lots  o'  big  heap  o'  ring — ring  o'  de  spear. 
Den  Jim  him  know  dat  Zulu  dog  hab  come.  Jim 
hear  uex'  growl  o'  de  big  Dutch  Boer,  en  den  him 
know  wicked  Boer  dere  too.  Den  Jim  him  run 
wid  all  him  might  to  hc'j)  brabe  lions  what  Zulu 
liyeua  hab  sprung  'pon.  Jim,  massa,  dough  hira 
skin  black,  no  cowanl.  Jim  tink,  too,  ob  de  good 
farder  what  hab  alius  treated  Jim  like  him  nudder 
white  man,  an'  o'  de  good  farder's  cliillern  what 
Jim  lub  like  urn  brudder  an'  sister.  But  while  Jim 
run,  him  all  sudden  hear  big  heap  o'  tramplin'  com- 
in'  'long  down  by  yudder  side  o'  ribber.  Hira  stop 
an' lissen.  Dere  'twas  'gain,  mo'u  ebber!  Soun' 
like  de  gallopin'  o'  many  horses.  Sogers  f'om  de 
Cape,  Jim  tink  to  hisse'f — der  sogers  hab  come  to 
he'p  de  good  farder's  cliillern.  Den  Jim  him 
break  an'  run,  him  run  fas'  as  ebber  him 
could,  an'  as  him  run  him  shout  at  top  o'  him 
voice,  '  De  sogers !  de  sogers !  De  sogers  f'om 
de  Cape  am  comin' !'  Den  all  at  onct  de  Zulus 
au'  de  Boers  dey  hear  de  tramplin'  too,  eben 
troo  de  big  soun's  o'  de  battle,  an'  dey  hear  Jim 
too,  what  him  holler,  an'  dey  t'ink  it  one  o'  deir 
own  men,  'cause  Jim  him  holler  it  in  Zulu,*  En 
*The  Kaffirs  are  one  braiiih  of  tlic  great  Zulu  tribe. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  119 

den,  massa,  'fore  Jim  know  'zaetly  how  it  happen, 
do  Zuhis  an'  de  Boers  dey  come  teariu'  down  de 
big  street  toward  de  gate,  and  when  dat  reached 
dey  pitcli  troo  like  cattle  when  de  wasp  git  'moug 
'em.  An'  such  shoutin'  an'  such  hollerin'  f  om 
dem  Zulu,  an'  such  cussin'  f 'om  dem  wicked  ole 
Boer,  you  nebber  heard.  It  make  Jim  hair  rise 
to  lissen.  When  onct  dey  git  out'n  de  gate,  you 
orter  see  dem  how  dey  cut  bee-line  for  de  mountains 
what  lie  'tween  here  an'  Zulu-lau'.  An'  dat  de  las' 
Jim  see  o'  wicked  Boer  or  dog  o'  Zulu." 

"  And  have  the  soldiers  really  come,  Jim  ?" 
Pierce  cries  aloud  in  his  excitement. 

"No,  Massa  Pierce,  dey  hab  no  come.  De 
trarapliu'  what  Jim  hear,  an'  what  scare  Zulu 
dog  an'  ole  Dutch  hyena  nearly  out'n  him  skin, 
been  made  by  drove  of  wild  buff'lo  what  git 
frighten  deysebs  at  somethin',  an'  come  tearin'  by 
wid  noise  like  mo'n  two  hundred  sogers  f 'om  de 
Cape." 

"And  what  has  happened  to  our  people?  and 
where,  oh  where,  is  my  father?"  Pierce  cries  again 
in  his  freshly-aroused  grief. 

"  Jim  no  know,  massa.  Him  come  hear  fus'  to 
see  'bout  good  farder's  chillern,  'cause  good  farder 
him  make  Jim  promise  dat  whatebber  happen  him, 
see  to  him  chillern  fus'.  Dat  what  him  say  many, 
many  times  ober :  '  Jim,  when  Zulu  dog  come, 
he'p  my  chillern ;'  an'  dat  what  Jim  alius  mean 
to  do  till  bref  go  out'n   him  body.     So  Jim  come 


120  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

straight  here,  an'  when  him  fin'  no  liglit,  no  sonn', 
all  gone,  den  Jim  him  jus'  fall  down,  all  broke  up. 
Him  no  able  for  moment  to  go  fudder.  Den  you 
come,  Ma&sa  Pierce,  an'  po'  Jim  mos'  jump  out'n 
him  skin  when  he  hear  dat  voice." 

"  Well,  let  us  go  to  the  kotla  at  once  and  see 
what  has  hap])ened.  Oh,  this  suspense  is  awful. 
— But  wait,  Pitsane,  and  you,  also,  Jim,  until  I 
get  my  father's  lantern.  We  cannot  manage  well 
without  it."- 

As  he  goes  into  the  house  something  starts  up 
suddenly  and  with  low  piteous  whines  begins  to 
rnb  itself  against  his  legs.  It  is  Henrietta's  little 
poodle,  Chitane,  who  at  the  time  of  their  sudden 
and  confused  flight  has  been  in  another  part  of  the 
house,  and  who  on  finding  himself  the  sole  occu- 
pant has  become  helpless  and  frightened. 

'*  Poor  Chitane  !  poor  dog  !"  Pierce  says  sooth- 
ingly as  he  stoops  to  caress  him. 

The  glad  dog  leaps  and  gambols  about  him  as 
though  quite  beside  himself  with  joy,  and  when 
Pierce,  finding  the  lantern,  goes  out  of  the  house, 
the  animal  keeps  close  at  his  heels. 

The  sight  that  greets  them  as  the  kotla  is 
reached  is  terrible  beyond  description.  Pierce 
feels  as  though  he  must  faint  in  spite  of  his 
bravest  eiforts  as  the  sickening  spectacle  of  man- 
gled corpses  piled  one  upon  another  meets  his  gaze. 
Bamangwato,  Zulu  and  Boer  all  lie  in  one  ghastly 
blood-covered  heap,  just  as  they  have  fallen  in  the 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  121 

last  throes  of  death,  mauy  of  them  with  their  arms 
entwined  still  in  the  desperate  clutch  with  which 
they  have  gone  down,  never  to  rise  again.  Where, 
oh  where,  is  his  father  ?  Over  and  over  again  Pierce 
asks  himself  this  question.  Can  it  be  that  he  is 
one  of  these  stark  and  lifeless  objects  lying  with 
rigid,  blood-stained  face  and  sightless  eyes  upturned 
to  the  pitiless  sky  ?  They  have  been  mowed  down, 
many  of  them,  just  as  they  sat  within  the  kotla,  lit- 
tle dreaming  of  the  terrible  assegais  of  the  blood- 
thirsty enemy  even  then  raised  to  strike  the  death- 
blow as  the  stealthy  forms  came  up  the  hill. 
Others,  again,  who  have  had  time  to  spring  to 
their  feet,  and  even  to  grasp  their  guns  and  battle- 
axes,  which  are  near  at  hand,  have  been  hewn 
down  as  they  sprung,  slashed,  stabbed,  literally 
hacked  to  pieces,  and  then  trampled  upon  until 
the  faces  of  many  of  them  are  beyond  recogni- 
tion. 

It  is  truly  a  ghastly  carnival  of  death,  for  all 
seem  dead,  not  a  groan  nor  a  moan  from  any  direc- 
tion reaching  the  ears  of  the  little  searching-party. 
This  strikes  them  as  strange  until  they  afterward 
learn  that  in  the  sudden  flight  of  the  Zulus  and  the 
Boers  at  the  sound  of  the  trampling  buifaloes,  many 
of  the  Bamaugwatos,  including  fully  two-thirds  of 
the  women  and  children,  have  escaped  the  massa- 
cre that  would  otherwise  have  been  complete.  Find- 
ing that  the  sounds  came  from  a  herd  of  stampeded 
buifaloes — for  they,  remaining  behind,   have  seen 


122  CJIILDREN   OF  THE  KALAHMII : 

wliat  the  fleeini;  Zulus  and  Boers  have  failed  to  see, 
that  the  nmddciiod  animals  go  rusliinii:;  by  the  vil- 
lage aud  into  the  forests  beyond — and  fearing  that 
at  any  moment  the  enemy,  finding  their  mistake, 
will  return  to  conijjkte  the  horrible  slaughter  so 
successfully  begun,  they  have  fled  from  the  village 
in  the  direction  of  Sechele's,  carrying  their  wounded 
with  them. 

About  the  entrance  of  the  kotla  that  faces  the 
broad  street  leading  up  from  the  main  gate,  througli 
which  the  treacherous  Mopanc  had  admitted  the 
foe,  the  fight  seems  to  have  been  most  desperate. 
Here  bodies  are  piled  up  four  and  five  deep,  Zulu 
and  Bamangwato  aud  Boer,  all  in  one  terrible  un- 
yielding embrace. 

Pierce's  trembling  knees  can  scarce  sustain  his 
weight  as  with  anguished  heart  he  stooi)s  over 
first  one  body  and  then  another,  flashing  the  rays 
of  the  lantern  into  the  hacked  and  distorted  faces, 
expecting  yet  dreading  to  find  in  one  of  them  the 
well-loved  face  of  his  father.  Pitsane  and  Jim, 
also  upon  the  same  painful  quest,  turn  body  after 
body  over  and  disentangle  others  from  the  awful 
piles  of  ghastly  humanity,  still  with  the  same 
disheartening  result :  there  is  no  trace  of  Mr.  Lil- 
lington  living  or  dead. 

Su<ldenly,  as  they  are  about  to  give  up  in  de- 
spair, the  low  whines  of  the  poodle,  some  little  dis- 
tance away  from  where  they  are  now  standing,  at- 
tract their  attention.      As  they  flash  the  rays  of 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  "123 

the  lantern  in  that  direction  they  see  him  cronohed 
beside  a  body  near  a  mass  of  shrubbery  just  be- 
yond the  kotla.  Indeed,  he  is  crouched  ahnost 
upon  the  body,  the  face  of  which  he  is  piteously 
licking.  With  a  wildly-beating  heart  Pierce  bends 
over  the  body,  which  is  lying  upon  its  back,  and 
the  next  moment  lets  the  rays  of  the  lantern  fall 
full  upon  the  face  of  his  father.  Feeling  sure  that 
he  is  dead,  for  his  face  and  clothing  are  covered 
with  blood  and  he  lies  silent  and  rigid,  Pierce  in 
an  agony  of  grief  falls  upon  his  breast.  But  as  he 
does  so  he  notices  that  the  body  is  still  warm,  in 
spite  of  its  rigid  pose.  In  an  instant  he  has  his 
hand  beneath  his  father's  clothing  and  upon  his 
heart.     It  is  beating  faintly. 

"  Oh,  Pitsane  !  Jim !"  he  cries  in  a  glad,  excited 
voice,  "  he  is  not  dead  !  He  may  even  not  be  so 
badly  wounded  as  we  think ;  the  blood  may  be 
that  of  others  as  well  as  his  own.  At  any  rate,  we 
must  get  him  to  the  cave,  and  as  quickly  as  we  can. 
Make  a  litter  of  boughs,  do,  my  good  fellows, 
while  I  run  to  the  house  for  some  blankets  and  a 
pillow." 

The  arrangements  are  soon  completed,  and  at  the 
expiration  of  only  about  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes 
the  unconscious  form  of  Mr.  Lillington  is  upon 
the  litter  ready  to  be  borne  to  the  cave.  As  he  is 
lifted  from  the  ground  a  low  moan  escapes  him, 
while  there  is  a  perceptible  movement  of  the  mus- 
cles of  the  face.     At  intervals  as  he  is  borne  along 


124  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

he  gives  vent  to  tlie  same  sound,  that  is  lialf  moan 
and  half"  sigh. 

"  We  must  go  by  way  of  the  main  entrance  and 
into  the  gorge  by  the  gradual  descent,"  Pierce  says. 
"  We  could  never  get  him  down  over  the  steep 
path  beyond  the  banian  trees.  Go  softly,  Jim,  and 
you,  Pitsane,  keep  your  eyes  open." 

On  his  return  to  the  house,  Pierce  has  secured 
his  father's  medicine-case  and  a  number  of  strips 
of  soft  cloth  which  he  knows  will  be  useful  for  ban- 
dages. They  now  set  off,  Pitsane  and  Jim  carrying 
the  litter  and  Pierce  walking  beside  it  with  the 
medicine-case  in  his  hand,  while  close  upon  his 
heels  follows  the  faithful  poodle,  Chitane. 

They  are  only  a  ^q\v  yards  or  so  beyond  the 
kotla  when  suddenly  a  towering  form  uprises  from 
a  clump  of  mimosa-bushes  near  their  path  and 
stands  confronting  them.  This  apparition,  for  they 
look  upon  it  as  nothing  else,  so  startles  Pitsane  and 
Jim  that  but  for  Pierce's  timely  intervention  they 
would  assuredly  have  dro])ped  the  litter. 

"Do  you  not  see,"  he  cries  as  he  springs  toward 
them,  "that  it  is  Mazika?  But,  oh  heavens  !  what 
a  sight !" 

And  a  sight  most  terrible  to  behold  the  tall,  pow- 
erful Zulu  does  in  truth  present.  He  is  wounded 
in  full  a  dozen  places,  but,  luckily,  most  of  them 
are  assegai  thrusts,  the  full  force  of  which  he  has 
warded  off  by  means  of  his  giant  battle-axe.  Yet 
though  they  are    merely  flesh  wounds,  they  have 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  125 

been  given  deep  enough  to  make  the  bh)od  flow 
freely,  staining  his  great  black  body  from  head  to 
foot.  Upon  the  side  of  his  face,  however,  there 
seems  to  be  a  most  desperate  wound,  for  as  Pierce 
covers  him  with  the  rays  of  the  lantern  the  sight 
of  the  mangled,  bleeding  flesh  for  the  moment 
so  sickens  him  that  he  staggers  as  though  about 
to  fall. 

"  Oh,  Mazika,"  he  cries,  "  what  has  hajipened 
to  you?" 

"  The  Zulu  dogs  have  given  Mazika  many  tastes 
of  the  sharp  tongues  of  their  assegais,  but  it  takes 
more  than  the  assegais  of  the  Matabele  dogs  to 
drink  the  life  of  Mazika.  The  arm  of  Mazika 
is  strong,  the  heart  of  Mazika  is  as  that  of  the  great 
rhinoceros  that  fears  nauglit,  not  even  the  growl  of 
the  fierce  lion.  The  axe  of  Mazika  is  as  deadly  as 
the  cobra-bite,  and  woe  unto  him  who  tastes  it ! 
Twenty  times  in  a  circle  did  Mazika  swing  his 
axe,  and  as  many  times  did  a  Avolf  of  a  Boer  or  a 
Zulu  dog  bite  the  dust  before  it.  Ay,  and  the  dog 
of  all  dogs,  Mopane.  I  saw  him  as  he  stood  for 
one  moment  overlooking  the  fight,  and  as  quick 
as  the  flash  of  the  wheels  of  the  great  sun's  chariot 
did  I  swing  Balala"  (his  axe  :  the  word  means  "the 
killer "),  "  and  lo  at  my  feet  lies  the  traitor  whose 
leprous  hand  unbarred  the  gate  to  the  wolves  that 
swept  down  upon  his  own  people." 

It  is  even  as  he  says :  there  at  his  feet  lies  Mo- 
pane with  his  ghastly,  blood-stained  face  upturned 


126  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

to  the  sky,  the  skull  split  almost  in  twain.  Terrible 
hut  just  has  beeu  the  fate  that  has  overtiiken  him. 

"But  yourself,  Mazika?"  Pierce  questions  again. 
"You  are  badly  hurt.     How  did  it  happen?" 

"A  dog  of  a  Matabele  struck  me  from  behind, 
but  even  as  he  raised  the  axe  to  strike,  Mazika 
turned,  and  thus  caught  upon  Balala  a  part  of  the 
blow,  but  only  a  part,  for  the  great  blade  of  the 
axe  fell  flat  uj)on  Mazika's  head  and  cut  down 
through  his  cheek.  It  must  have  been  a  blow  such 
as  that  with  which  the  butcher  fells  the  ox,  for  it 
sent  Mazika  down  before  it,  and  there  he  lay  as 
dead  until  a  little  while  ago  he  came  to  himself  to 
find  the  Matabele  dogs  fled  from  the  village  and 
only  Mazika  left  with  the  spirits  of  the  dead. 
Then  came  the  son  of  the  good  father,  with  the 
good  father  borne  before  him  wounded  unto  death. 
Mazika  hears  the  voices,  Mazika  sees  the  light, 
and  lo,  Mazika  is  here !" 

"And  glad  enough  are  we  to  see  you,  poor  fel- 
low!" Pierce  says  pityingly,  "though  so  desper- 
ately wounded.  Do  you  think  you  can  make  the 
journey  to  the  cave,  Mazika?  But  first  let  me 
bandage  your  head  and  face.  You  have  already 
lost  too  nnich  blood. — Pitsane,  Jim,  lay  the  litter 
down  a  moment.  Gently,  my  good  fellows,  and 
come  and  help  me." 

In  a  short  while  Pierce,  who  has  before  done 
such  things  under  his  father's  careful  directions,  has 
the  Zulu's  wounds  very  skillfully  bandaged.     The 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  127 

grim  old  warrior  is  quite  weak  from  the  loss  of 
blood  and  faint  with  the  pain  of  the  desperate 
wounds  upon  his  head  and  cheek,  but  his  courage 
and  resolution  are  equal  to  the  effort  that  is  neces- 
sary to  carry  him  to  the  cave,  and  so  with  slow, 
majestic  strides  he  starts  off  beside  them. 

Just  as  they  have  cautiously  approached  the  gate, 
and  are  on  the  point  of  passing  through  it,  they 
hear  the  sound  of  running  feet  rapidly  coming 
nearer,  accompanied  a  moment  later  by  the  quick, 
short  breathing  of  some  animal  or  animals,  strain- 
ing every  nerve  for  some  extra  exertion. 

"  Hist !"  says  Pitsaue,  "  it  is  the  dogs.  They 
run  as  though  the  wolves  themselves  were  upon 
their  tracks." 

"  They  have  gotten  scent  of  us,"  says  Pierce, 
"or  perhaps  they  have  even  heard  our  voices. 
There  is  no  estimating  the  instinct  of  a  dog." 

Even  as  he  speaks  three  large,  gaunt  dogs  of 
the  mastiff  species  spring  through  the  gate  and 
leap  upon  them.  Two  are  the  dogs  belonging  to 
the  mission-house ;  the  third,  a  great,  yellow  pow- 
erful-looking brute  with  a  massive  head,  is  Spoorer 
("game-tracker"),  Mazika's  dog,  who  as  soon  as 
he  catches  sight  of  his  master  nearly  goes  wild 
with  delight,  his  puppyisli  gambols  being  exceed- 
ingly ludicrous  for  one  of  his  years  and  habitual 
dignity. 

When  without  the  gate  the  little  party  halts  for  a 
moment,  thinking  to  catch  sounds  of  other  dogs  or 


128  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

perhaps  to  see  some  of  the  brutes  crouching  near. 
But  all  is  silent  upon  the  hills.  With  the  same 
instinct  with  which  the  dogs  of  the  mission-house 
and  of  Mazika  have  so  unerringly  found  their 
masters,  the  others  have  doubtless  got  wind  of  the 
fleeing  Baniangwatos  and  are  even  now  upon 
their  track. 

As  they  draw  near  the  entrance  to  the  cave 
Pierce  bids  his  companions  wait  a  few  moments 
until  he  goes  forward  to  ])rcpare  Ellie  and  Hope 
for  a  sight  of  Mr.  Lillington. 

He  cannot  tell  how  desperately  his  flither  has 
been  wounded,  he  says  to  them  after  he  has  cau- 
tiously related  the  manner  in  which  he  has  been 
found.  It  may  be,  he  tells  them,  that  he  has  only 
been  given  back  to  them  to  be  taken  away  again, 
and  that  they  must  be  very  brave  and  calm  and 
not  excite  him  by  any  outcry,  as  he  may  regain 
consciousness  at  any  moment. 

Pierce's  words  have  their  effect,  for,  though  the 
hearts  of  both  young  girls  are  nearly  breaking  with 
grief,  and  it  is  all  they  can  do  to  keep  from  crying 
outright  at  sight  of  the  silent,  blood-stained  form 
upon  the  litter,  they  nevertheless  heroically  restrain 
their  feelings,  and  set  about  doing  all  they  can  for 
the  loved  father  and  uncle. 

Besides  a  wound  upon  the  head  and  another  near 
the  shoulder,  Mr.  Lillington  has  been  des})erately 
wounded  in  the  side,  as  they  soon  discover.  With 
M'hat  knowledge  he  has  obtained  through  his  father's 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  129 

careful  instructions,  added  to  the  information  lie  has 
himself  acquired  through  a  two  years'  close  reading 
of  surgery,  Pierce  sets  to  work,  with  Cuuuyngham's 
aid,  to  dress  his  father's  wounds.  All  this  time 
there  is  no  sign  of  consciousness  from  the  wounded 
man  and  but  little  sign  of  life. 

When  his  services  are  no  longer  needed  in  the 
trying  and  delicate  task  of  dressing  his  uncle's 
wounds,  and  Ellie  and  Hope  have  established 
themselves  close  beside  Mr.  Lillington  to  watch 
anxiously  for  any  sign  of  returning  consciousness, 
Cunnyngham  walks  apart  to  talk  with  Pitsane  and 
Jim,  who  have  stretched  themselves  upon  a  couple 
of  skins  near  the  fire  in  order  to  snatch  what  rest 
they  can.  Upon  a  similar  skin  reposes  the  massive 
form  of  the  Zulu,  now  suffering  greatly  from  his 
wounds,  yet,  after  the  manner  of  his  race,  giving 
little  sign. 

Pierce  has  bestowed  upon  the  bandages  about  his 
face  and  head  renewed  attention,  and  is  now  doing 
for  him  all  that  his  partially-trained  skill  can 
suggest. 

"  Pitsane,"  Cunnyngham  says  as  he  approaches 
the  Hottentot  and  the  Kaffir,  "  I  know  that  you 
and  Jim  must  be  already  greatly  worn  out  with  the 
events  of  this  night,  and  what  I  am  about  to  ask 
of  you  may  seem  very  heartless,  but  it  is  only  the 
extreme  urgency  of  the  case  that  drives  me  to  it, 
I  assure  you.  As  you  know,  the  position  in  which 
we  are  now  placed  is  one  of  much  danger  and  dif- 

9 


130  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

ficulty,  despite  the  fact  tluit  we  are  now  safely  shel- 
tered in  the  cave.  This  is  w'ell  enough,  so  far  as 
the  present  is  concerned,  but  we  must  also  think  of 
the  luture,  and  nut  only  think  of  it,  but  provide  for 
it  by  taking  advantage  of  such  opportunities  as  are 
now  within  our  reach.  In  my  uncle's  condition  he 
may  linger  for  weeks  ere  he  recovers — if  he  recover 
at  all,"  he  adds  sadly.  "  During  all  this  time  we 
shall  doubtless  have  to  remain  in  the  cave.  Siiould 
we  be  released  from  our  confinement,  even  after  a 
period  of  a  few  Meeks,  there  is  still  the  journey 
across  the  country  to  be  thought  of.  For  this  we 
are  not  prepared  as  we  should  be,  neither  are  we 
prepared  to  linger  long  within  the  cave.  We  must 
have  more  supplies,  and  we  must  have  some  tools, 
additional  feed  for  the  oxen,  a  cow  or  two,  some 
goats,  if  we  can  get  hold  of  them,  and  by  all  means 
the  donkeys,  and  at  least  two  of  the  best  horses.  It 
is  now  half-past  one  o'clock.  In  a  little  more  than 
four  hours  it  will  be  daylight.  Do  you  not  think 
that  within  that  time  we  can  have  made  at  least 
three  trips  to  the  mission-station  and  back  ?  I 
would  not  ask  it  of  you,  my  poor  fellows  !  seeing 
how  tired  you  are  already,  did  I  not  recognize  the 
desperate  straits  of  the  situation.  As  you  know, 
the  Zulus,  believing  that  they  were  about  to  be  at- 
tacked by  a  body  of  horsemen  from  the  Cape,  have 
suddenly  fled,  leaving  their  work  of  destruction 
incomplete.  We  know  them  too  well  to  doubt  for 
a  moment  that  as  soon  as  they  discover  their  mis- 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  131 

take  they  will  returu  to  fiuisli  their  dastardly  deed 
by  applying  the  torch  to  everything  left  within  the 
village.  Even  by  dawu  their  scouts  will  be  out  in 
every  direction,  and  when  they  learn  that  the  village 
is  deserted  they  will  at  once  swoop  down  upon  it 
and  leave  nothing  behind  to  tell  the  tale.  There- 
fore what  we  do  must  be  done  quickly — to-night?" 

"  Pitsaue  is  ready  to  go  wherever  the  young  Eagle 
says,"  the  Hottentot  quickly  replies,  as,  arising  from 
the  skin  on  which  he  has  been  lying,  he  shakes  him- 
self as  a  oreat  dog  does  on  being  aroused  from  slum- 
ber.  "  For  the  good  father  and  the  good  father's 
children  Pitsane  would  gladly  give  his  life  if  that 
would  help  them.  Shall  he  therefore  turn  back 
for  the  sake  of  a  little  fatigue  ?  No,  no ;  that  is 
not  the  way  a  man  would  do — that  would  be  as  a 
child.  Let  the  Eagle  then  tell  Pitsaue  what  he 
wants  him  to  do." 

"  Jim  too,  massa,"  the  Kaffir  says  in  his  low,  gut- 
tural tones — "  Jim  ready  to  do  what  him  can.  Him 
mo'  sleepy  dan  tired,  but  him  soon  git  ober  dat." 

"  Then  come  along,  my  brave  fellows,  and  we  will 
go  to  work. — No,  no,  Pierce,  you  must  not  think 
of  going.  You  have  done  enough  for  to-night." 
This  last  is  to  his  cousin,  who,  having  overheard  a 
part  of  the  conversation,  is  now  insisting  that  he 
too  shall  be  allowed  to  go  and  help  all  he  can. 
"  You  must  stay  here  and  keep  watch  with  the 
girls.  Your  father  may  need  your  attention  at 
any  moment." 


132  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

"And  now,"  Ciinnynglnuu  says,  as,  having 
reached  the  top  of  the  gorge  hy  the  wall  of  baniau 
trees,  they  stop  for  a  moment  to  listen  and  to  re- 
cover tiieir  breath,  ''  Pitsane,  you  go  to  the  stables 
for  the  donkeys  and  the  horses.  Get  both  my 
sister's  and  cousin's  donkeys,  and  the  three  that 
are  my  uncle's.  Select  two  of  the  best  horses. 
Stay  !  get  three.  Be  sure  that  one  is  Khiva,  the 
horse  that  Captain  Murray  gave  my  uncle.  Ride 
Khiva,  and  lead  one  of  my  uncle's  donkeys. 
Chumah,  Susi  and  the  others  will  follow.  You 
will,  of  course,  have  to  return  to  the  cave  by 
way  of  the  main  entrance  of  the  village.  Go 
cautiously,  and  it  is  unnecessary  to  tell  you  to 
look  well  about  you.  AVheu  you  have  reached  the 
cave  turn  the  horses  and  donkeys  in  with  the  oxen 
in  the  upper  part  of  the  gorge,  and  be  sure  the  bar- 
ricade is  secure,  for  should  any  of  them  get  out  they 
would  be  likely  to  stray  back  to  the  village,  and  we 
would  then  have  our  work  for  nothing.  When  you 
have  done  this  return  here  to  the  wall  of  banian 
trees,  where  I  will  await  you. — And  you,  Jim,  go 
to  the  cattle-pen,  select  five  of  the  best  milkers 
with  young  calves,  eight  or  ten  head  of  beeves, 
twice  as  many  sheep  and  as  many  goats  as  you  can 
get  together,  with  two  or  three  of  the  nannies  and 
their  young  families.  Turn  all  the  others  loose,  so 
that  the  poor  creatures  may  not  suffer  the  tortures 
of  fire  when  those  bloodthirsty  savages  return  to 
apply  the  torch. — And  you,  Pitsane,  do  the  same 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  133 

for  the  horses  and  tlie  doukeys. — Both  of  you  see 
the  rest  of  the  cattle  well  out  of  the  village  and 
toward  the  pasture-grounds  ere  you  take  out  your 
droves. — Pen  the  cattle,  Jim,  in  the  upper  end  of 
the  gorge,  as  I  have  told  Pitsane  to  do  with  the 
horses  and  doukeys.  Return  here,  as  I  have  also 
told  him  to  do,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  next." 

Cunnyngham  has  made  ten  or  twelve  trips  from 
the  mission-house  to  the  top  of  the  gorge,  each  time 
well  laden  with  supplies,  when  Pitsane  joins  him. 
A  half  hour  later  Jim  also  returns,  each  of  them 
with  a  favorable  report. 

It  is  now  a  quarter  to  four  o'clock,  and  Cun- 
nyngham, recognizing  that  what  is  further  done 
must  be  done  quickly,  instructs  the  two  to  convey 
the  supplies  he  has  placed  near  the  top  of  the  gorge 
down  into  the  caiion  and  some  little  distance  along 
it,  to  where  he  designates  a  thicket  of  thorn,  be- 
hind which  they  are  to  conceal  the  articles.  In 
about  an  hour's  time  this  is  finished,  when  the  little 
party  starts  oif  for  a  last  trip  to  the  mission-house. 
A  few  faint  streaks  of  red  are  already  beginning  to 
stain  the  eastern  sky,  while  here  and  there  about  the 
village  the  crow  of  an  awakening  cock  is  heard. 

"  There  isn't  a  moment  to  lose,"  Cunnyngham 
says  with  anxious  glances  toward  the  flist-redden- 
ing  sky.  "  Go  to  the  hen-house,  Jim,  and  get  a 
dozen  hens  and  a  cou^^le  of  roosters.  Tie  their  feet 
together  with  these  strings,  so  that  you  can  carry 
them  well.—  You,  Pitsane,  come  with  me." 


134  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

As  Cunnyntjcliam  oiitei*s  the  little  side  room,  or 
kind  of  pantrv,  wliere  many  of  the  household  stores 
are  kept,  something  soft  rubs  against  him.  The 
next  moment  he  cutt;hes  the  sound  made  hy  the 
gentle  pui-ring  of  a  cat.  Holding  the  lantern  so 
that  the  rays  fall  downward,  he  sees  that  it  is  his 
cousin  Henrietta's  cat,  "  Pussy  Tea-kettle."  Near 
by  is  an  open  basket  in  which  are  five  fat  sleeping 
kittens. 

"Poor  pussy!"  says  Cunnyngham,  "it  is  awful 
to  think  of  your  being  left  behind  to  be  burnt  up 
in  the  house;  and  not  only  you,  but  your  helpless 
little  family.  No,  no,  it  shall  not  be  if  I  can  help 
it;  I  will  take  you  and  the  kittens  out." 

But  as  he  does  so  and  deposits  the  basket  under 
one  of  the  trees  in  the  garden,  Madame  Pussy  de- 
liberately picks  up  one  of  the  soft,  purring  balls 
and  starts  with   it  back  to  the  house. 

"  Evidently  this  will  not  do,"  Cunnyngham  says 
to  himself  in  much  perplexity.  "  The  poor  foolish 
pussy  seems  determined  to  have  herself  and  family 
cremated?  Yes,  I  will  do  it,"  he  exclaims  aloud 
as  a  sudden  thought  seems  to  strike  him.  "Hen- 
rietta will  be  so  glad !  And,"  he  goes  on  after 
another  pause,  "  while  I  am  in  this  kind  of  busi- 
ness I  will  make  somebody  else  happy  also."  As 
he  says  these  words  he  picks  up  a  box  in  which 
there  is  a  small  magic-lantern  with  some  views 
that  belongs  to  Marvin,  and  hands  it  to  Pitsane. 
"And   still   another  some   one,"    he  continues,   as 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  135 

from  the  sitting-room  he  takes  several  photogra])hs 
aud  a  half  dozen  or  so  of  the  choicest  books. 

A  few  moments  later,  as  he  goes  on  through  the 
orchard  in  the  direction  of  the  path  leading  down 
into  the  gorge,  there  is  borne  aloft  on  his  shoulder, 
in  addition  to  the  books  and  pictures  under  his  arm, 
the  small  basket  in  which  the  fat  kittens  are  snugly 
reposing,  while  Madame  Pussy  Tea-kettle,  seemingly 
well  assured  as  to  the  journey  upon  which  her  off- 
spring are  bound,  as  well  as  of  the  good  intentions  of 
their  conductor,  trots  contentedly  along  at  his  side. 

As  Cunnyngham,  Pitsane  and  Jim  meet  at  the 
top  of  the  gorge  and  prepare  for  the  descent  the 
light  in  the  eastern  sky  has  so  far  increased  that 
even  remote  objects  are  now  plainly  visible.  They 
therefore  make  their  way  as  quickly  as  safety  and 
their  burdens  will  allow  down  the  somewhat  pre- 
cipitous path,  and  it  is  with  a  feeling  of  deep 
thankfulness  that  a  few  moments  later  they  find 
themselves  enclosed  in  the  deep  gray  shadows  at  the 
bottom  of  the  gorge. 

Assuring  himself  that  the  remainder  of  the  sup- 
plies are  well  hidden  within  the  dense  growth  of 
the  thorn  coppice,  Cunnyngham  leads  the  way  to 
the  cave,  still  with  the  basket  of  kittens  safe  upon 
his  shoulder  and  Madame  Pussy  Tea-kettle  close  at 
his  heels.  The  rays  of  the  rising  sun  are  just  gild- 
ing with  light  the  tops  of  the  trees  along  the  sum- 
mit of  the  gorge  as  the  entrance  to  the  cave  is 
reached. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

"  The  Lord  is  the  Maker  of  them  all." 

SO  thoroughly  worn  out  are  tlie  occupauts  of  the 
cave  with  the  events  of  the  uight  and  morning 
— for  three  of  them,  as  we  have  seen,  liave  toiled 
on  until  well  into  the  morning — that  it  is  late  in 
the  afternoon  of  the  day  following  the  night  of 
the  massacre  at  the  mission-station  ere  they  arouse 
themselves  from  the  deep  slumber  into  which  they 
have  fallen.  Ellie,  Hope  and  Pierce  have  taken  it 
by  turns  to  watch  beside  Mr.  Lillington,  but  have 
finally  all  three  succumbed  to  the  heavy  sleep  that 
has  crept  upon  them.  Even  the  grim  Zulu,  at 
first  restless  from  the  pain  of  his  wound,  has  at 
last  slept  soundly. 

In  Mr.  Lillington  there  is  little  if  any  change. 
He  still  lies  in  the  same  unconscious  condition, 
moaning  feebly  at  times  and  never  once  opening 
his  eyes.  The  children  are  unremitting  in  their 
ministrations,  and  when  Ellie,  out  of  her  great 
desire  to  do  everything  that  will  help  her  dear 
father,  has  tried  bathing  his  face  in  water  in  which 
ammonia  has  been  dropped,  and  holding  a  bot- 
tle of  the  strong  fluid  to  liis  nostrils,  she  is  much 

136 


A  STORY   OF  AFRICA.  137 

encouraged  to  note  a  very  decided  change  iu  hina 
— a  change,  she  hopes,  for  the  better.  A  faint  color 
begins  to  steal  into  his  white  face,  and  he  occasion- 
ally makes  a  few  restless  movements  with  his  hands 
and  arms.  In  the  mean  time,  Mamochisane,  as- 
sisted by  the  Kaffir  Jim  and  superintended  by 
Hope,  has  prepared  a  meal  that  is  both  breakfast 
and  dinner.  Despite  their  sad  and  anxious  hearts, 
they  all  do  full  justice  to  it.  Even  Mazika  is  per- 
suaded to  eat  something.  The  children  are  especi- 
ally ravenous,  and,  fearing  they  may  make  them- 
selves sick,  Ellie  has  at  length  cautioned  them  to 
desist.  Chitane,  Spoorer  and  the  other  dogs  come 
in  for  their  share,  and  eat  like  famished  wolves — 
all  except  the  former,  who  seems  so  overcome  by 
his  master's  condition  that,  after  picking  a  few 
bones  in  a  lifeless  sort  of  way,  he  returns  at  once 
to  the  couch  upon  which  Mr.  Lillington  is  lying 
and  takes  up  his  old  place  beside  the  pillow. 

The  delight  of  Henrietta  on  finding  her  cher- 
ished Pussy  Tea-kettle  safe,  with  all  her  little  fam- 
ily, is  so  demonstrative  and  genuine  that  Cuu- 
nyngham  feels  well  repaid. 

As  soon  as  the  meal  is  over  Cuuuyngham  pro- 
poses to  Pitsane  and  Jim  that  they  go  and  see  after 
the  supplies  they  have  hidden  iu  the  thorn  coppice. 

They  pick  their  way  cautiously,  taking  care  to 
shelter  themselves  as  much  as  possible  behind  the 
tangled  growth  of  bushes  and  vines  along  the  edge 
of  the  gorge,  for  by  this  time  they  feel  assured  the 


138  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

Zulus  either  juust  liavc  returned  to  tlie  village  or 
are  ke('j)iiii2:  watch  up<»n  it.  Before  they  have  pro- 
ceeded hallway,  the  mingled  sounds  of  many  iioaree 
shouts  and  of  various  t)utcries  coming  to  their  ears, 
they  stop  suddenly  and  shelter  themselves  behind 
some  stunted  but  thick-growing  acacia-bushes.  Kre 
they  have  decided  whether  to  go  on  or  to  return  to 
the  cave  they  catch  sight  of  numerous  thick  clouds 
of  smoke  blowing  over  the  gorge. 

"It  is  the  Zulus,"  says  Cunnyngham,  "and  the 
Boers  too,  I  doubt  not.  They  have  returned,  and 
have  set  fire  to  the  village.  I  think  we  had  better 
go  back  and  wait  for  the  darkness  ere  we  attempt 
to  remove  the  supplies." 

When  the  inmates  of  the  cave  are  told  what  is 
happening  at  the  mission-station,  they  sit  with  pal- 
ing cheeks  and  beating  hearts,  not  knowing  but 
that  at  almost  any  moment  they  may  be  tracked 
and  their  hiding-place  discovered.  But  as  the 
afternoon  wears  on  and  the  night  approaches,  they 
gather  about  the  entrance  to  the  cave  and  watch 
with  varied  emotions  the  great  red  glare  in  the  sky 
that  is  made  by  the  burning  mission-station.  Di- 
rectly there  comes  to  them  a  scent  both  sickening 
and  overpowering,  which,  they  recognize  with  a 
shudder,  arises  from  burning  flesh.  Then  they 
know  that  it  is  the  kotla  with  its  human  con- 
tents. 

The  reflection  from  the  burning  buildings  lights 
up  all  the  sky  overhead  and   falls  with  such  inten- 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  139 

sity  upon  the  trees  aloDg  the  edges  of  the  gorge 
that  every  trunk  and  limb  stands  out  witli  distinct- 
ness. Eilie  thinks  with  an  aching  heart  of"  the 
result  of  so  many  years  of  hard,  patient  labor  even 
now  being  lapi)ed  up  as  so  nuich  tinder  by  the  mer- 
ciless flames,  and  thanks  God  that  in  his  blissful 
unconsciousness  her  father  knows  nothing  of  it. 

So  long  does  the  light  from  the  burning  station 
continue  to  be  reflected  into  the  gorge  that  it  is  not 
until  the  following  night  that  the  supplies  are  re- 
moved from  the  thorn  coppice  to  the  cave.  Ere 
leaving  with  the  last  load  Pitsane  and  Cunnyng- 
ham  cautiously  make  their  way  to  the  top  of  the 
gorge  and  peer  over  it  in  the  direction  of  the  sta- 
tion. All  is  a  heap  of  smouldering  ruins,  with 
here  and  there  a  red  tongue  of  flame  shooting  up 
from  some  substance  that  is  long  in  burning.  No- 
where is  there  a  sign  of  life ;  all  is  desolate  and 
deserted. 

"  The  Zulus  are  gone,"  says  Cunnynghara  in  a 
low  voice — "  gone  aiter  wreaking  their  mean  re- 
venge like  the  fiends  they  are."  Then  as  he  strug- 
gles bravely  with  the  tears  that  are  beginning  to 
rise,  "  Good-bye,  old  Lepelole !  good-bye,  dear 
place !  One  can  scarcely  dare  hope  ever  to  look 
upon  your  like  in  these  wilds  again.  But  as  sure 
as  a  just  God  reigueth,  he  will  not  long  let  your 
blackened  ruins  and  the  charred  bones  of  your 
massacred  people  cry  to  him  for  vengeance." 

The  fifth  day  following  the  night  upon  which  he 


140  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

has  been  l)orne  to  the  cave  there  is  a  decided  evi- 
dence of  returning  consciousness  in  Mr.  Lillington. 
On  the  morning  of  the  sixth  day  he  opens  his  eyes 
with  a  look  of  recognition  upon  the  face  of  Ellie, 
who  is  bending  the  nearest  to  hira. 

"Do  you  know  me,  dear  father?"  she  asks, 
quietly,  struggling  bravely  with  herself  so  as  not 
to  excite  him. 

He  gives  an  answering  movement  of  his  eyelids 
and  smiles  faintly  upon  her.  In  three  days  more 
he  is  able  to  converse,  though  but  for  a  few  mo- 
ments at  a  time,  and  then  only  in  barely  audible 
tones.  By  the  end  of  another  week  he  is  a  little 
stronger  and  can  talk  with  his  family  for  longer 
periods  and  altogether  intelligibly.  He  can  even 
sit  up  propped  by  rolls  of  skins  and  by  the  pil- 
lows. But  he  is  in  great  pain  all  the  while,  and 
the  ugly  wound  in  his  side  has  altogether  refused 
to  yield  to  treatment.  Even  his  own  skill  fails 
to  suggest  anything  further  to  do. 

The  knowledge  comes  to  him  soon  that  he  is  in 
a  most  critical  condition,  and  then  that  the  end 
cannot  be  very  far  off.  How  he  dreads  to  make 
this  known  to  the  patient,  loving  hearts  that  have 
watched  beside  him  for  the  past  two  weeks  !  But 
it  must  be  done.  Tliey  must  be  ])repared,  else  will 
the  shock  be  too  great  when  it  does  come.  Besides, 
there  are  many  things  about  which  he  must  talk  to 
them.  The  question  of  the  future  even  now  pre- 
sents itself.     It  must  be  met  and  answered. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  141 

In  the  uncontrollable  bursts  of  grief  following 
upou  his  painful  revelation  it  is  long  ere  he  can 
get  them  to  listen  calmly  to  the  plans  for  their 
future  that  have  revolved  through  his  mind  while 
he  has  been  lying  upon  the  couch  of  skins  and  ap- 
parently with  his  eyes  closed  in  quiet  slumber. 

"Be  strong,  my  children,"  he  entreats  them — "be 
strong  and  faint  not,  and  God  will  surely  give  the 
grace  to  sustain  you  through  this  affliction.  Put 
your  trust  in  him,  and  so  shall  you,  like  the  spar- 
row pursued  from  house-top  to  house-top,  find  at 
last  a  resting-place — yea,  even  in  the  bosom  of  the 
Most  High.  '  As  thy  days  so  shall  thy  strength 
be.'  Oh  rely  upon  this  !  God  himself  has  'prom- 
ised it,  and  he  never  forgets  his  promises.  And 
now  let  us  talk  about  what  it  is  best  for  you  to 
do  after  I  am  no  longer  with  you  to  advise  and 
direct." 

He  closes  his  eyes  and  remains  quiet  for  a  few 
moments.     In  a  little  while  he  speaks  again  : 

"  I  know  of  nothing  better  to  suggest  than  that 
you  try  to  reach  the  village  of  Sechele,  fifteen  days' 
journey  due  south  from  this.  Once  with  him,  I 
feel  confident  he  will  do  all  he  can  to  help  you 
on  to  the  Cape." 

"  The  words  of  the  good  father  are  well  meant," 
says  Pitsane  at  this  juncture  and  in  his  native  lan- 
guage, "and  he  gives  to  his  children  the  counsel  he 
thinks  is  best  and  most  wise.  But  since  the  good 
father   has   lain   here   sick    unto   death   from   the 


142  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

wounds  received  from  the  spears  of  the  Zulu  dogs, 
many  things  have  come  to  pass  of  which  my  father 
knuweth  naught.  Even  now  all  the  paths  that  lead 
to  Sochele's,  as  well  as  those  that  bend  toward  the 
Cape,  are  watched  by  the  Matabele  wolves  and  the 
Zulu  vultures.  They  know  that  my  father's  chil- 
dren have  escaped  and  are  somewhere  within  the 
forests,  and  that  sooner  or  later  they  will  seek  to 
make  their  way  to  the  good  Sechele.  Everywhere 
between  here  and  Seehele's  and  the  Cape  they  swarm 
like  the  vultures  that  circle  about  the  dead  carcasses 
of  the  beasts.  AVonld  my  father  send  his  children 
to  be  eaten  of  these  dogs  and  devoured  of  these 
wolves?" 

"I  had  not  thought  of  that  "  Mr.  Lillinj^ton  mnr- 
fnurs  faintly,  his  face  working  with  emotion.  "  O 
my  Father,  the  way  seems  dark,  exceedingly  dark. 
Show  me  the  light.  Have  pity  upon  these  help- 
less ones  and  guide  them  from  this  wilderness." 

In  a  few  moments  he  speaks  again,  this  time  in 
calm  tones :  "  What  are  the  chances,  Pitsane,  to 
get  through  to  Kingone  or  Quilamane  on  the 
east  coast?" 

"  No  better,  my  father ;  even  worse.  Here  is 
Mazika,  who  will  tell  you  that  even  to  attempt  to 
pass  through  the  country  of  Mosilikatse  would  be 
like  rushing  into  the  fangs  of  the  most  deadly  of 
all  the  Matabele  wolves.  He  and  his  would  de- 
vour without  mercy." 

"  Pitsane  has  spoken,  ray  father,"  the  Zulu  adds 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  143 

iu  his  deep  musical  language,  "and  the  words  of 
Pitaaue  are  wise.  On  the  one  hand  are  the  hun- 
gry Boer  dogs  and  the  fierce  Zulu  wolves,  and  on 
the  other  Mosilikatse,  the  treacherous  chief  with 
the  cruel  heart  and  the  bloody  hand." 

"Then  God  help  you,  my  poor  children  !"  the 
missionary  cries  in  his  despair.  "  I  know  not  what 
to  advise." 

"  If  the  good  father  will  listen,  Pitsane  will  tell 
him  of  a  way  whereby  his  children  may  escape  the 
clutches  of  the  Matabele  wolves.  It  is  a  long  and 
tedious  way,  and  there  are  many  dangei-s,  but  Pit- 
sane  believes  that  it  is  now  the  only  one  left  to  the 
father's  children." 

"  And  that  way,  Pitsane  ?"  Mr.  Lillington  ques- 
tions eagerly. 

"The  way  that  leads  to  the  Chobe  Kiver  and 
to  the  Makololo — the  old  brave  Makololo,  the  peo- 
ple of  the  wise  and  good  Sebituane  and  the  friend 
of  the  great  Livingstone." 

"  But  the  Makololo  have  met  with  many  reverses 
since  Livingstone  was  last  among  them,  especially 
since  the  death  of  their  young  chief,  Sekeletu. 
Numerous  tribes  have  made  inroads  among  them 
and  reduced  their  once  proud  power." 

"  But  nevertheless,  my  father,  there  are  many 
of  these  people  still  left  upon  the  banks  of  the 
Chobe  and  along  the  broad  current  of  the  Leam- 
bye.  They  would  gladly  welcome  the  children  of 
the  good  father,  the  story  of  whose  kind,  brave 


144  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

work  among  their  brothere,  the  Bamangwatos,  has 
long  ago  traveled  to  them.  Ay,  and  they  will  do 
more  than  welcome  them  :  they  Mill  help  them  on 
down  to  the  coast,  where  the  great  ships  wait  to 
bear  them  to  their  own  country." 

"But  the  Chobe  lies  in  a  north-westerly  direc- 
tion from  this,  and  to  reach  it,  it  will  be  necessary 
to  pass  through  a  portion  at  least  of  the  dread  Ma- 
tabele  territory." 

"Not  so,  my  father.  By  going  straight  from 
here  in  an  easterly  direction  to  the  Kalahari,  into 
it  some  miles  and  then  turning  due  north,  there 
will  then  be  no  danger  from  the  jNIatabele  wolves. 
Of  all  ways  this  is  the  only  one  left  to  the  children 
of  ray  father,  and  though  it  is  so  long  and  so  full  of 
dangers,  and  there  are  so  many  hardships  to  be  met 
with  on  every  hand,  yet  Pitsane  believes  there  is 
no  other  by  which  they  could  go  with  a  chance  to 
escape  with  their  lives.  It  is  the  very  last  direc- 
tion in  which  the  wolves  will  expect  to  find  my 
father's  children,  for  they  would  as  soon  think  of 
guarding  the  way  to  the  great  skies  above  as  the 
paths  that  lead  to  the  Kalahari." 

"But  the  Kalahari  itself,"  exclaims  Mr.  Lilling- 
tou,  "that  dread  place  of  blistering  sands,  parched 
vegetation  and  of  torturing  thirst !  Tiiey  will  as- 
suredly perish  if  they  make  any  such  an  attempt 
as  that." 

"  No,  my  father,  no  !  They  may  perhaps  suffer, 
and  suifer  much,  but  they  will  not  die.     The  great 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  145 

God  whom  my  father  serves  will  not  permit  it.  Men 
with  whit€  skins  have  crossed  the  Kalahari  before 
without  perishing — yea,  and  women  too ;  and  what 
tliey  have  done  so  may  others  do,  even  the  tender 
children  of  my  father.  Near  the  desert  lives  Shobo, 
the  great  Bushman  guide  who  twice  went  across 
with  the  mighty  Livingstone.  Fear  not :  he  will 
see  your  children  safe  through  all  the  dangers." 

"  There  seems  no  other  way,"  Mr.  Lillington 
says  after  a  moment  of  deep  and  painful  thought 
— "  no  other  way,  my  children,  except  for  you  to 
try  and  reach  the  Makololo.  Once  with  them,  they 
can  undoubtedly  help  you  to  the  coast,  and  will  do 
so,  I  feel  assured,  if  they  can.  But  it  is  a  long  aud 
dangerous  journey  any  way  we  look  upon  it,  filled 
too  with  such  hardships  that  it  is  terrible  to  think 
of  these  delicate  girls  as  facing,  and  of  the  tender 
as  enduring.  But  God  is  good,  and  his  loving-kind- 
ness is  ever  about  those  who  put  their  trust  in  him. 
Do  you  think  you  are  prepared  with  sufficient  sup- 
plies to  make  the  start?"  he  turns  to  question  of 
Cunnyngham. 

"Oh  yes,  uncle;  we  are  far  better  prepared  than 
many  who  have  attempted  similar  journeys.  We 
have  everything  that  is  absolutely  necessary — a 
strong,  commodious  wagon,  plenty  of  the  best  salted 
oxen,  horses,  cows,  sheep,  fowls,  at  least  two  months' 
provisions,  firearms  and  tools  of  various  kinds." 

"  You  have  shown  activity  as  well  as  wisdom  in 
your  preparations,"  his  uncle  says  commendiugly. — 

10 


146  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

"And  Mazika  and  Pitsane  and  Jim,"  turning  his 
eyes  entreatingly  toward  their  black  faces  and 
speaking  in  tones  tliat  are  trenuilous  with  some 
deep  emotion — *'  my  good,  brave  fellows,  you  will 
not  desert  my  children  ?" 

"  Nebber,  niassa !"  Jim  says,  speaking  first  and 
for  all  the  others,  for  well  he  knows  their  feelings 
on  the  subject.  His  broken  English  is  very  deep 
and  impressive  as  he  continues  :  "  De  good  farder's 
chillern  nebber  know  what  'tis  to  be  'serted  long  as 
Jim  an'  'Sane  an'  'Zika  hab  bref  in  deir  body.  Dey 
go  wid  'em  ter  de  ens'  o'  de  yearth  fus' ;  dey  spill 
ebber  drop  o'  deir  blood  for  'em." 

"The  Kaffir  has  spoken,"  Mazika  says  in  his 
liquid,  rounded  Zulu,  "and  his  words  are  as  the 
words  of  truth.  While  Mazika  has  one  drop  of 
blood  to  give  he  will  give  it  for  his  father's  chil- 
dren." 

"  As  the  lioness  ]ir()tects  her  cubs,"  says  Pitsane 
in  his  guttural  though  not  altogether  unmusical  Hot- 
tentot, "  and  the  rhinoceros  cow  her  calf,  so  will  Pit- 
sane  lay  down  his  life  for  the  children  of  the  good 
father,  the  true,  brave  man  who  has  taught  him  that 
all  men  are  equal  in  the  sight  of  the  great  God  whom 
he  serves." 

"  God  bless  you,  each  and  every  one  !"  Mr.  Lil- 
lington  says  fervently.  "  Oh,  may  the  words  you 
have  spoken  stand  as  an  everlasting  monument  to 
the  better  and  nobler  impulses  of  your  race  !  God 
made  us  all,  Mazika,  Pitsane,  Jim ;  the  same  hand 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  147 

that  fashioued  the  white  skiu  to  cover  my  face  made 
also  the  black  one  that  covers  yours.  He  is  the 
Father  of  us  all.  The  great  and  universal  lan- 
guage he  teaches  us  is  love :  '  Thou  shalt  love  thy 
neighbor  as  thyself.'  Again  he  says,  '  Greater  love 
hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man  lay  down  his  life 
for  his  friends.'  And  this  is  just  what  you  propose 
to  do,  my  bi-ave,  true  fellows.  For  me  and  mine  you 
are  ready  to  die.  Oh,  the  God  of  heaven  and  earth, 
the  Maker  alike  of  the  white  man  and  the  black,  the 
great  and  universal  Father,  bless  you  for  ever  and 
bring  you  at  least  to  know  the  fullness  of  his  glory 
in  his  home  beyond  the  stars !" 

The  next  day  Mr.  Lillington  grew  very  restless. 
Fever  set  in,  and  in  three  days  more  he  was  wildly 
tossing  in  delirium.  All  that  loving  and  gentle 
ones  could  do  was  done  for  him.  Day  and  night 
they  watched  him  untiringly  ;  hour  after  hour  they 
were  beside  him  holdino;  the  coolino-  draught  to  his 
lips  or  fanning  his  fevered  brow.  With  aching 
hearts  and  tearful  eyes  they  watched  the  slow  but 
sure  advance  of  that  Shadow  that  falls  alike  upon 
the  hearts  of  the  young  and  of  the  old — that  draws 
with  stern  impartiality  in  ghastly  outlines  its  hid- 
eous form  upon  the  ice-gorges  of  the  polar  seas  and 
the  glaring  sand-heaps  of  the  tropic  deserts — the 
Shadow  against  M'hich  even  the  world's  Edens  are 
powerless  and  the  Happy  Valleys  not  free  from 
entrance. 

On  the  morning  of  the  twenty-third  day  since 


148  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

they  had  been  inmates  of  the  cave,  and  following 
upon  a  night  of  comparative  quiet,  Mr.  Lillington 
at  length  opened  his  eyes  with  a  gleam  of  conscious- 
ness in  their  depths. 

"  Bury  me,"  he  said  faintly,  "  in  the  little  cem- 
etery on  the  hill  beside  my  dear  wife  and  the  loved 
ones  who  have  gone  before." 

A  few  moments  he  closed  his  eyes,  then  opened 
them  again  with  one  long,  last  loving  look  upon  all 
the  tearful  faces  grouped  about  him. 

"O  God  of  the  fatherless,"  he  murmured,  his 
weak  lips  moving  in  prayer,  "  be  a  Father  to  these 
my  helpless  ones.  Oh  bless  them,  kind  God — bless 
each  and  every  one  of  them.  O  Guardian  of  the 
helpless,  O  Protector  of  the  oppressed,  O  Rock  of 
refuge  for  those  in  trouble,  be  thou  near.  Comfort 
and  help,  for  Jesus'  sake  I" 

At  sunrise  he  was  dead,  and  the  wails  of  his 
stricken  children  told  how  truly  desolate  he  had 
left  them. 

Pitsane  and  Jim  procured  from  the  forest,  where 
many  weeks  before  they  had  been  sawn,  the  boards 
with  which  Cunnyugham's  own  hands  made  the 
coflfin  in  which  his  uncle's  body  was  placed. 

At  nightfall  of  the  following  day  Pitsane  and  Jim 
were  sent  to  dig  the  grave  within  the  little  cemetery 
on  the  hill.  Thither  a  few  hours  later  the  body  was 
carried  by  Cunnyngham,  Mazika,  Pitsane  and  Jim, 
Pierce  alone  of  his  children  following  as  mourner, 
for  the  others,  especially  the  girls,  have  become  so 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  149 

exhausted  by  their  grief  as  to  be  utterly  unable  to 
make  the  trip. 

Cuunynghani's  voice  was  shaken  by  a  storm  of 
emotion  as  he  attempted  to  repeat  above  the  open 
grave  into  which  the  coffin  had  been  lowered  the 
beautiful  and  comforting  words  of  the  fourteenth 
chapter  of  Revelation  : 

"'Blessed  are  the  dead  which  die  in  the  Lord 
from  henceforth  :  yea,  saith  the  Spirit,  that  they 
may  rest  from  their  labors ;  and  their  works  do 
follow  them.'" 

As  the  fii*st  clods  were  falling  upon  the  coffin-lid 
the  attention  of  the  group  about  the  grave  was  at- 
tracted by  the  sound  of  pattering  footsteps.  It  was 
the  poodle  Chitaue,  who  had  followed  them  from 
the  cave,  and  who,  as  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  the 
open  grave,  took  up  his  stand  near  it,  whining  pit- 
eously.  When  it  was  filled  it  was  all  they  could  do 
to  induce  him  to  leave  it.  Indeed,  he  did  not  do  so, 
even  at  the  last,  of  his  own  accord.  Pierce  having  to 
lift  him  up  and  bear  him  away  in  his  arms. 

For  many  days  following  upon  Mr.  Lillington's 
death  and  burial  the  occupants  of  the  cave  seemed 
too  deeply  stricken  with  grief  to  think  of  aught 
else  or  to  begin  any  preparation  whatever  for  their 
long  and  dangerous  journey  across  the  plains.  Even 
Mazika,  Pitsane  and  Jim  seemed  to  have  lost  all  in- 
terest and  to  be  immersed  in  the  common  sorrow. 
The  grim  Zulu,  the  grateful  Hottentot  and  the  faith- 
ful Kaffir  had  all  loved  the  kindly,  generous  man 


150  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

who  had  looked  iijK)n  tlii'in,  not  as  slaves  and  dogs, 
as  the  Boers  had  done,  but  as  men  and  brothers. 

But  licarts  cannot  long  remain  so  cast  down 
and  grief-stricken.  Youth  is  naturally  strong 
and  buoyant,  and  a  week  after  Mr.  Lillington's 
death  active  preparations  for  the  start  across  the 
plains  were  begun.  Mazika  had  almost  entirely 
recovered  from  his  wounds  by  this  time — though 
the  one  upon  his  cheek  had  left  a  terrible  scar — 
and  was  thus  enabled  to  give  them  much  valuable 
aid. 

An  incident  has  in  the  mean  time  occurred  which 
has  made  an  addition  to  the  little  party  by  no  less 
a  personage  than  old  Kamati,  the  blacksmith. 
Happening  to  go  one  evening  on  a  scouting-ex- 
pedition  to  gain,  if  possible,  some  knowledge  of 
the  movements  of  the  Boers  and  Zulus,  Pitsane 
has  stumbled  upon  a  half-starved  creature  hidden 
away  in  the  rocks  of  the  basalt  cliffs.  He  is  great- 
ly surprised  to  find  in  this  emaciated  object  the  once 
fleshy  and  vigorous  blacksmith.  Kamati  has  es- 
caped in  the  confusion  attendant  upon  tiie  stampede 
of  the  buffaloes,  but  iu  the  excitement  lias  gotten 
lost  from  his  people.  Ever  since  he  has  lain  hid- 
den in  the  rocks,  fearing  to  venture  out  by  day 
lest  he  shall  be  seen  by  the  dreaded  Boers  and 
Zulus.  At  night  he  has  procured  what  meagre 
food  he  has  so  far  subsisted  upon — roots,  berries 
and  a  quantity  of  half-bu*rnt  corn  obtained  from 
one  of  the  partially-consumed  ruins  of  the  village. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  151 

It  makes  the  tears  spring  to  Ellie's  and  Hope's 
sympathetic  eyes  to  see  the  ravenous  manner  in 
which  the  poor  fellow  devours  every  article  of  food 
that  is  set  before  him. 

Under  Kamati's  direction  an  anvil,  a  bellows 
and  some  coal  are  now  obtained  from  a  little  cellar 
beneath  a  mound  in  the  rear  of  his  hut,  where  they 
have  escaped  destruction  in  the  general  conflagra- 
tion of  the  station.  This  seems  a  special  dispen- 
sation of  Providence  to  the  trusting  little  band  in 
the  cave,  all  the  more  so  since,  from  long  standing, 
many  parts  of  the  iron-work  of  the  wagon  have 
become  loosened  and  need  attention. 

With  the  aid  of  Kamati  and  Pitsane,  Cunnyng- 
ham  sets  about  a  complete  overhauling  of  the  wagon 
and  the  getting  of  it  into  the  best  possible  condition 
for  hard  usage. 

The  wagon  is  almost  new,  having  been  used  very 
little,  and  only  for  one  considerable  trip,  that  from 
the  Cape  to  the  mission-station.  It  is  about  four- 
teen feet  long  by  six  wide,  and,  though  solidly 
built,  is  yet  unusually  light  and  easy-moving  for 
its  size.  Over  the  top  of  the  wagon  is  stretched 
a  high  canvas  cover  or  "  tilt,"  a  protection  against 
sun  and  rain.  On  either  side  of  the  vehicle  is 
fastened  an  additional  canvas  sheet  with  falling 
sides,  so  arranged  that  the  whole  can  be  stretched 
out  and  pegged  to  the  ground,  when,  lo  !  there 
are  two  as  nice  tents  as  one  would  need  to  have. 
The  bottom  of  the  wagon  is  ingeniously  fitted  with 


152  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

various  boxes  and  lockers.  In  these  the  ammuni- 
tion and  the  stock  of  provisions  are  to  be  placed, 
and  in  others,  which  are  water-tigiit  and  made 
somewhat  in  the  shape  of  casks,  is  a  supply  of 
Avatcr  preparatory  to  passing  over  arid  desert 
wa.stes.  Tliese  boxes  and  lockers  are  so  arranged 
as  to  make  a  level  surface  upon  which  blankets  and 
other  articles  for  forming  a  bed  can  be  spread.  To 
the  sides  of  the  wagon  above  this  are  fitted  num- 
erous smaller  boxes  for  miscellaneous  stores; 
brackets  or  racks  for  the  holding  of  the  rifles, 
guns  and  other  firearms ;  also  receptacles  for  the 
carpenter's  and  blacksmith's  tools. 

To  draw  this  wagon  there  is  a  team  of  twenty 
large,  strong  Bechuana  oxen,  four  of  them  having 
afterward  been  added  to  the  sixteen  first  carried  to 
the  cave.  Sixteen  is  the  usual  team,  but  Mr.  Lil- 
liugtou  has  been  careful  to  provide  four  extra  ones, 
so  as  to  guard  against  casualties.  These  oxen  are 
what  is  known  as  "  well-salted  ;"  that  is,  they  have 
worked  over  many  parts  of  South  Africa,  been  ex- 
posed to  all  sorts  of  hardships,  and  thus  become 
proof,  moderately  speaking,  against  many  things 
to  which  the  fresher  animals  w'ould  easily  suc- 
cumb. 

Their  arrangements  being  now  perfected  and 
everything  having  been  put  in  first-class  order  for 
the  journey,  the  trusting  little  band  that  is  thus 
fearlessly  going  forth  to  face  many  of  the  worst 
dangers  of  savage  Africa  agrees  that  the  start  shall 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  133 

be  made  on  the  following  Monday  evening  at  sun- 
down. By  journeying  at  night  they  will  avoid 
much  of  the  danger  of  being  discovered  by  any 
prowling  band  of  Zulus  or  Boers,  and,  as  it  will  be 
much  cooler,  it  will  be  less  trying,  not  only  upon 
themselves,  but  upon  the  cattle.  Afterward,  when 
they  are  farther  upon  their  route  and  have  grown 
accustomed  to  the  heat  of  the  sun,  they  can  divide 
the  time  between  the  day  and  the  night. 

The  goal  they  desire  to  make  during  the  first 
night  is  a  certain  pool  or  spring  in  the  now  dried- 
up  bed  of  a  river-course  eighteen  or  twenty  miles 
away,  where,  in  the  dense  jungles  of  mimosa  that 
surround  it  and  sheltered  by  the  overhanging  cliffs, 
they  hope  to  remain  safely  hidden  through  the  next 
day. 


CHAPTER   X. 

"  He  will  be  our  Guide  even  unto  death." 

UPON  the  following  Monday  evening,  a  full 
half  hour  before  the  sun  had  set,  everything 
is  in  readiness  for  the  start.  The  wagon  stands 
before  the  entrance  to  the  cave  with  the  oxen 
yoked  to  it.  About  the  barricade  that  has  served  to 
make  a  secure  pasturage-ground  of  the  upper  end 
of  the  canon  Jim  has  collected  the  cattle  prepar- 
atory to  driving  theiu  out.  Two  of  the  horses 
stand  ready  saddled  and  bridled,  while  a  third  has 
simply  a  bridle  and  blanket,  another  saddle  having 
been  unprocurable. 

About  the  mouth  of  the  cave  the  little  group  is 
gathered,  for  ere  they  start  forth  upon  the  long  and 
dangerous  journey  across  the  savage  wilderness  they 
assemble  to  ask  help  and  protection  of  Him  who 
guards  even  the  bird's  flight. 

In  a  deep  and  earnest  voice  Pierce  reads  the  beau- 
tiful and  comforting  words  of  the  ninety-first  Psalm. 
Then  they  fall  upon  their  knees  and  clasp  their 
hands  while  Cunnyngham  prays  aloud  to  God 
for  strength  and  help  to  pass  safely  through  the 
many   terrible   dangers    they   are   about    to   face. 

154 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  155 

When  prayer  is  ended  they  take  their  way  each  to 
the  ajipoiiited  place  he  or  she  is  to  occupy  in  the 
caravan,  and  the  march  is  begun. 

In  front  rides  Cunuyngham  on  one  of  his  uncle's 
horses,  and  at  his  side  the  grim  and  faithful  Zulu 
mounted  upon  another,  the  one  that  has  no  saddle. 
It  has  been  hard  work  to  get  Mazika  to  mount  the 
horse.  Long  has  he  protested  that  Mazika  is  no 
child  that  he  should  be  carried  by  the  swift  beast  with 
the  slender  legs.  But  as  Mazika's  wounds  still  get 
angry  at  times,  strong  persuasion  is  brought  to  bear 
upon  him  to  induce  him  to  spare  himself  as  much 
as  possible  ;  and  he  finally  mounts  the  horse,  though 
still  against  his  inclinations.  He  is  riding  in  Zulu 
fashion,  with  his  knees  pressed  close  against  the  sides 
of  the  horse  and  his  feet  stuck  out  almost  at  right 
angles.  Behind  Cunuyngham  and  Mazika  come 
the  cattle,  driven  by  Jim — five  cows  with  their 
calves,  the  extra  oxen,  a  half  dozen  beeves,  a 
dozen  head  of  sheep,  and  as  many  goats.  Jim 
has  the  privilege  of  riding  one  of  the  donkeys. 

Following  close  upon  Jim  and  his  cattle  is  the 
great  wagon  with  the  yoke  of  sixteen  strong,  splen- 
did oxen  attached.  At  their  head,  as  leader,  walks 
Pitsaue,  while  old  Kamati  is  upon  the  driver's  seat. 
It  is  uudei'stood  that  they  are  to  change  about  in  the 
leading  and  driving.  Cunuyngham,  Pierce,  and 
even  Mazika,  are  also  to  have  their  turn  handling 
the  span,  while  Jim  too  is  to  be  relieved  at  inter- 
vals of  his  care  of  the  cattle. 


156  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

In  the  wagon  are  Ellie,  Hope,  Henrietta,  Marvin, 
Baby  Louise  and  Mainochisane.  There,  too,  snugly 
ensconced  in  one  corner  set  apart  for  their  especial 
use,  is  Madame  Pussy  Tea-kettle  with  her  little 
family,  the  latter  in  one  month  having  grown  to 
quite  a  respectable  size.  At  Henrietta's  feet,  upon 
a  skin  rug,  is  the  poodle  Chitane,  now  somewhat 
recovered  from  the  state  of  dejection  into  which  he 
has  been  thrown  by  his  master's  death. 

Beside  the  wagon  rides  Pierce,  mounted  upon  his 
father's  favorite  horse,  Khiva,  named  for  a  famous 
African  king,  and  which  has  been  the  gift  of  Cap- 
tain Murray.  About  his  heels  frolic  the  dogs  that 
have  come  to  them  at  the  gates  of  the  mission-sta- 
tion, now  sleek  and  \vell  fed.  INIazika's  great  yellow 
dog,  Spoorer,  as  though  scorning  the  injudicious 
gambols  of  the  younger  ones,  walks  with  dignified 
tread  beside  the  horse  upon  which  his  master  sits. 
Fastened  to  the  pommel  of  Pierce's  saddle  are  the 
reins  of  the  halters  by  which  two  of  his  uncle's 
donkeys  are  tethered,  Chumah  and  Susi  following 
of  their  own  free  will. 

Among  the  other  appointments  of  the  wagon, 
there  has  been  fitted  to  the  top  of  the  body  on 
either  side  a  stout  plank  about  nine  or  ten  inches 
wide  and  running  the  whole  length,  each  of  which 
is  so  fastened  by  hinges  that  it  can  be  put  down  or 
up  at  pleasure,  thus  serving  as  a  protection  against 
the  spears,  arrows,  or  even  bullets,  of  the  enemy  in 
case  of  an  ambuscade.     On  a  platform  at  the  rear 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  157 

of  the  wagon  are  secured  two  large  coops,  or  rather 
cages.  In  oue  of  these  are  the  fowls  that  have 
been  secured  from  the  mission-station,  while  into 
the  other,  at  regular  periods,  are  put  first  the  young 
calves  and  then  the  kids,  so  as  to  relieve  them  in 
part  of  the  trying  fatigues  of  the  journey. 

On  starting  out  from  the  cave  the  little  caravan 
Ciirries  with  it  what  is  a  full  two  months'  supply  of 
provisions.  Of  such  articles  as  flour,  Indian  corn- 
meal  and  the  grain  wherewith  to  make  other  meal 
when  this  is  exhausted  there  is  a  much  larger  supply. 
In  addition  to  flour,  meal  and  corn,  the  commissariat 
contains  such  articles  as  coffee,  tea,  sugar,  crackers, 
a  small  quantity  of  pickles  and  preserves,  a  dozen  or 
two  of  lemons  and  limes,  some  cheeses  made  of  the 
curds  of  goats'  milk,  bacon,  even  one  or  two  home- 
cured  hams,  and  a  somewhat  large  supply  of  "  bil- 
tong," or  dried  game-flesh. 

Among  the  miscellaneous  stores  are  candles,  soap, 
tar,  tallow,  matches,  nails,  spare  bits  of  canvas  and 
ropes  and  many  other  useful  things  too  tedious  to 
mention.  There  are,  also,  Mr.  Lillington's  medi- 
cine-case, with  a  stock  of  medicines  additional  to 
what  that  contains,  a  sextant  and  compass,  a  small 
but  powerful  telescope,  a  case  of  surgical  instrments, 
various  blacksmith  and  carpenter  tools,  including 
the  anvil  and  bellows  and  a  small  grindstone  on 
which  to  sharpen  the  axes  and  hatchets. 

AVith  the  personal  effects  of  Ellie  and  Hope  are 
carefully  packed  sewing  articles  of  various  descrip- 


158  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

tions,  such  as  needles,  thread,  scissors,  while  Pierce 
has  many  small  chemical  apparatuses  and  arsenical 
and  other  preparations  for  preservin<;  natural-his- 
tory specimens,  he  being  especially  fond  of  chem- 
istry and  natural  history.  Marvin's  store  consists 
of  a  collection  of  numerous  fish-hooks  and  lines,  a 
kite  with  a  gorgeous  tail,  to  which  he  has  clung  to 
the  last,  a  wonderful  rubber  ball,  a  spinning-toj)  that 
goes  to  sleep  beautifully — all  presents  his  dear  dead 
father  has  obtained  for  him  from  the  Cape,  at  great 
trouble — and  his  beloved  magic-lantern  and  views, 
the  last  the  gift  of  Captain  Murray. 

Among  the  stores  intended  partly  for  barter  and 
partly  for  presents  to  the  diiferent  savage  chiefs, 
especially  to  those  with  whom  they  may  have  trou- 
ble in  getting  across  their  country,  are  glass  beads 
of  various  colors  and  sizes,  gilt  and  copper  rings, 
pocket-knives,  gayly-painted  tin  cups,  iron  spoons, 
and  a  bolt  or  so  of  calico  and  baize  which  their 
father  has  kept  for  bartering  ])urposes  at  the  mis- 
sion-station. They  have  also  a  very  good  supply 
of  ammunition,  several  guns  and  rifles  and  two 
revolvers. 

As  the  little  caravan  defiles  out  of  the  gorge  near 
the  main  entrance  to  the  station  the  sun  has  set  and 
the  moon  has  already  risen.  AVith  tearful  eyes  and 
sad  hearts  Ellie  and  Hope  look  upon  the  blackened 
ruins  of  what  has  been  the  only  home  they  have 
known  for  yeai-s.  As  rude  as  have  been  its  appoint- 
ments, as  wild  as  have  been  its  surroundings,  it  has 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  159 

nevertheless  held  many  things  that  have  been  most 
sweet  and  pleasant.  Now  like  wanderers  they  must 
go  out  across  the  great  wilderness  that  stretches  be- 
tween them  and  the  only  other  home  they  have 
on  earth. 

When  opposite  the  little  cemetery  upon  the  hill 
a  pause  is  made  that  the  eyes  of  these  desolate  chil- 
dren may  look  once  more — nay,  for  the  last  time — 
upon  the  mounds  that  cover  all  of  the  earthly  part 
of  that  about  which  have  been  bound  the  purest  and 
the  strongest  cords  that  have  held  them  to  life.  As 
they  go  out  across  the  great  wide  desert  how  often 
will  their  hearts  turn  back  with  a  sick  and  dreary 
longing  to  the  one  dear  and  sacred  spot  nestled  like 
a  bit  of  God's  own  acre  in  the  midst  of  the  silent 
and  desolate  stretches  of  this  African  valley !  A 
short  distance  beyond  the  mission-station  the  little 
caravan  turns  somewhat  suddenly  and  sharply  to 
the  left  and  makes  its  way  over  a  rude  wooden 
bridge  that  at  this  point  spans  the  river.  As  the 
rise  of  a  hill  on  the  other  side  is  reached,  involun- 
tarily they  turn  for  a  last  look  upon  the  mission- 
station. 

The  few  fleecy  clouds  that  have  been  at  play 
about  the  moon  have  now  gone  scurrying  oif,  and 
the  strong,  clear  light  falls  full  upon  everything, 
even  upon  the  line  of  low  reeds  along  the  river's 
course.  Against  the  southern  sky  the  beautiful 
stars  of  this  hemisphere,  far  more  beautiful  here 
than  elsewhere,  glitter  like  gems  above  the  tower- 


IGO  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

iner  crests  of  the  distant  mountains  that  stand  out 
in  sucli  bold  relief.  But  there  is  no  boldness,  no 
glare,  in  the  moonlight,  which  seems  to  throw  a 
mantle  of  peace  about  those  who  gaze  upon  it,  as 
it  also  throws  a  mantle  of  silver  over  everything 
upon  which  it  rests.  In  another  moment  they 
have  descended  the  hill,  and  Lepelole,  with  all 
its  joys  and  sorrows,  its  days  of  pleasure  and  of 
pain,  its  life  of  rare  delights  and  of  bitter  heart- 
aches, is  left  behind  for  ever. 

Slowly  but  steadily  they  keep  on  their  way. 
Every  hour  there  is  a  siiort  stop  of  at  least  ten 
minutes  to  allow  the  less  hardy  of  the  cattle  to  rest. 
Careful  watch  is  kept  in  every  direction  in  order 
to  guard  against  any  sudden  surprise  on  the  part 
of  hostile  man  or  savage  beast.  But  beyond  the 
occasional  skulking  form  of  a  hyena  or  a  wolf  no 
danger  threatens :  God  seems,  indeed,  to  have  them 
in  the  hollow  of  his  hand. 

For  the  first  three  or  four  miles  after  leaving  the 
mission-station  they  pass  over  a  country  that  is 
comparatively  level ;  then  it  begins  to  rise  grad- 
ually to  the  foot  of  a  line  of  mountains  that  lies 
directly  across  their  course.  The  ascent,  though 
rough  and  broken  in  many  places,  is  neither  very 
steep  nor  extremely  difficult,  owing  to  the  winding 
nature  of  the  track  they  follow.  They  find  the 
descent  of  the  range  a  little  more  difficult  than  the 
ascent  has  been.  More  than  once  ihe  path  grows 
so  rugged  that  great  care  and  caution  are  ueces- 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  161 

sary  in  order  to  get  the  oxen  and  wagon  safely 
along. 

All  night  they  travel,  and  then,  just  as  the 
whole  of  the  eastern  sky  is  breaking  into  one  glo- 
rious mass  of  light,  they  reach  the  bed  of  a  dry 
water-course  some  five  or  six  miles  from  the  foot 
of  the  last  ridge  down  which  they  have  toiled. 
Here  Mazika,  who  has  so  far  acted  as  guide  on 
account  of  being  more  familiar  with  the  country 
in  this  direction  than  any  other  member  of  the 
party,  says  they  are  to  "outspan  ;"  in  other  words, 
to  unyoke  the  oxen  and  prepare  to  encamp. 

They  follow  the  track  of  the  water-course  for 
perhaps  two  hundred  and  fifty  or  three  hundred 
yards.  Here  somewhat  suddenly,  after  having 
passed  around  a  thick  coppice  of  low-growing 
acacias,  they  come  upon  a  pool,  or  rather  a  spring, 
of  most  excellent  water  that  is  sheltered  by  an 
overhanging  ledge  of  rock.  They  are  now  in  one 
of  the  wildest  portions  of  the  river-bed.  On  either 
side  the  bank  towers  many  feet  above  them,  cov- 
ered with  a  tangled  growth  of  bush  and  vine  and 
interspersed  here  and  therewith  clumps  of  swaying, 
feathery  ferns  and  tall,  rank-growing  reeds. 

The  spring  itself  is  about  two  feet  deep,  and 
gushes  with  much  freedom  from  the  very  heart  of 
the  earth.  Around  it,  as  though  to  give  it  a  cooler 
and  still  more  inviting  appearance,  are  clumps  of 
tall  ferns  and  dewy  grasses  and  the  fragile  stems 
and  creepers  of  many  delicate  ice-plants. 


162  CHILDREN  OF  TUB  KALAHARI: 

At  this  inviting  spot  they  hope  to  remain  secure- 
ly sheltered  during  the  day,  as  well  as  to  obtain  the 
sleep  and  rest  so  necessary  to  fit  them  to  endure 
the  fatigues  of  the  coming  night's  travel.  The 
oxen  are  outspauned,  watered  and  turned  to  graze 
upon  the  luscious  grasses  that  grow  in  such  rich 
abundance  all  along  the  river's  bed.  The  other 
cattle  and  the  horses  and  donkeys  are  also  treated 
in  the  same  manner,  after  one  or  two  of  them  have 
first  been  tethered  in  order  to  prevent  them  from 
straying.  The  fowls  too  are  watered  and  given 
grain  to  eat.  Then  a  sheep  is  killed,  and  while 
Kaffir  Jim  milks  the  cows,  Ellie,  Hope  and  Mamo- 
chisane  see  to  the  getting  of  breakfast.  And  a 
most  palatable  meal  it  is  when  ready,  consisting  of 
lamb  nicely  roasted,  biscuits,  eggs,  coffee  for  the 
older  ones  and  rich  sweet  milk  for  the  younger. 

When  all  are  satisfied,  even  the  dogs  and  Mad- 
ame Tea-kettle  and  her  little  family,  Mazika  care- 
fully puts  out  the  fire,  fearing  that  the  smoke  may 
attract  attention.  That  is,  he  puts  it  all  out  with 
the  exception  of  one  large  chunk,  which  he  hus- 
bands with  a  view  to  saving  matches,  securely 
wrapping  it  in  the  ashes.  Then  the  arrangement 
having  been  entered  into  for  Cunnyiigham,  Pierce, 
Mazika,  Pitsane,  Kamati  and  Jim  to  take  turns 
about  in  keeping  watch,  they  all,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  one  who  is  to  go  on  guard-duty  first, 
lie  down  to  the  much-needed  rest.  Even  the  chil- 
dren and  old  Mamochisane,  despite  the  fact  that 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  163 

tliey  have  slept  much  and  Avell  during  the  journey 
of  the  previous  night,  nevertheless  feel  themselves 
so  overcome  by  the  common  drowsiness  that  pre- 
vails as  to  soon  fall  into  a  slumber  quite  as  deep 
and  sound  as  the  others.  Ere  lying  down  they 
have  agreed  that  they  will  have  but  one  more  meal 
for  this  day,  and  that  well  toward  evening. 

The  sun  is  just  two  hours  high  when  Mazika, 
who  has  been  the  last  on  duty,  awakens  them  with 
the  intimation  that  it  is  time  they  were  making 
preparations  for  the  evening's  meal  and  the  night's 
travel. 

While  the  meal  is  in  preparation  Cunnynghani 
coaxes  Ellie  and  Hope  to  go  with  him  and  Mazika 
to  the  summit  of  a  small  wood-crowned  hill  near 
by,  where  they  desire  to  make  some  observations 
of  the  surrounding  country  by  means  of  the  tele- 
scope. The  hill  is  only  a  few  hundred  yards  di- 
rectly to  the  right  of  the  camping-place,  but  as 
they  have  to  go  back  along  the  bed  of  the  stream  to 
the  point  at  which  they  have  entered  it,  it  is  alto- 
gether the  walk  of  a  half  mile  or  more. 

It  is  more  a  mound  than  a  hill,  and  of  that  pe- 
culiar cup-shape  so  common  in  Africa.  It  has  an 
altitude  of  only  about  seventy-five  or  a  hundred 
feet ;  but  as  much  of  the  country  round  about  is 
rather  level,  and  the  other  hills  in  the  vicinity  are 
of  less  eminence,  they  have  a  very  good  view. 

Suddenly,  Cunnynghani,  who  has  the  telescope 
adjusted  to  his  eye  and  is  pointing  it  first  in  one 


164  OHTLDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

direction  aiul  then  another,  gives  a  quick  little  cry 
and  almost  lets  the  instrument  fall  from  his  hand. 

"  What  is  the  matter?"  asks  Hope  hurriedly. 

"There,  Mazika  !  take  the  glass,"  Cunnyngham 
says,  hastily  placing  it  in  his  hand.  "  Quick,  old 
fellow  !"  he  says  again  to  ^lazika,  "and  bring  it  to 
bear  upon  that  clump  of  acacias  out  yonder,  and 
tell  me  what  you  see." 

"  Zulus!"  is  the  one  terrible  word  that  falls  from 
Mazika's  lips,  as,  being  familiar  with  the  use  of  the 
glass,  he  has  adjusted  it  to  the  proper  focus. 

"'Zulus'!"  repeats  Ellie,  feeling  that  in  spite 
of  her  every  effort  she  must  cry  out  in  this  sudden 
terror  that  has  come  upon  her.  "  Oh,  surely  not, 
Mazika  !     Look  again  !     You  must  be  mistaken." 

As  to  Hope,  at  the  first  sound  of  that  dreadful 
word  she  has  leaned  heavily,  pale  and  speechless, 
against  the  tree  near  which  she  has  been  standing. 
The  tree,  but  a  mere  sapling,  begins  to  bend  under 
her  •weight. 

"  Mazika  is  not  mistaken,  missy.  It  is  Zulus 
— Zulu  dogs,  full  a  score  in  number  and  with  shin- 
ing assegais  ready  for  battle." 

"And  are  they  coming  this  way,  Mazika?" 

"  Straight  as  the  arrow  flies,  missy. 

"  About  how  far  away  are  they  ?"  this  last  to 
Cunnynghara,  who  has  again  taken  the  glass. 

"Only  about  a  mile  and  a  half,  I  should  judge, 
but  perhaps  a  little  more,"  his  lips  striving  in  vain 
to  speak  the  words  steadily. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  165 

"Then  may  God  help  us,  for  we  are  surely 
lost !" 

"  Say  not  so,  child  of  the  good  father,"  exclaims 
Mazika,  falling  into  his  old  rounded,  musical  Zulu. 
"  The  hand  of  Mazika  is  strong,  his  heart  as  the 
heart  of  the  black  rhinoceros  that  fears  naught,  and 
his  mighty  battle-axe,  the  great  Balala,  is  thirsty 
for  battle.  Before  Balala's  awful  blow  many  warriore 
have  kissed  the  dust,  and  many  more  will  yet  kiss 
it  ere  Mazika  himself  goes  down.  Fear  not,  child 
of  the  good  man  with  the  warm  hand  and  the  brave 
heart ;  a  score  of  warriors  are  as  but  the  chaff 
before  the  wind  to  the  hand  of  Mazika,  but  as  the 
grass  the  tongues  of  fire  lick  up  to  the  kiss  of  the 
mighty  Balala !" 

"  Oh,  Mazika,"  Ellie  entreats,  "  do  not  talk  so 
extravagantly.  You  are  a  brave  man,  I  know,  and 
you  are  strong,  as  you  say,  but  what  are  even  your 
strength  and  your  bravery  against  a  score  of  blood- 
thirsty savages  armed  with  their  deadly  assegais? 
Oh  quick  !  tell  us  what  to  do !" 

"  There  is  nothing,"  says  Cunnyngham,  answer- 
ing ere  the  Zulu  can  speak,  "  except  to  return  to 
the  camp  and  prepare  to  make  what  defence  we  can. 
I,  for  one,  propose  to  sell  my  life  and  that  of  those 
dear  to  me  at  as  great  a  cost  as  possible. — What 
say  you,  Mazika?" 

"  The  M'ords  of  my  white  brother  are  brave ; 
they  are  the  words  of  a  man  and  warrior.  Many 
Matabele  dogs  shall  kiss  the  earth   this  night  ere 


1.66  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

Mazika  sleeps  with  his  face  turned  to  the  land  of 
his  fathers."* 

"  Oh,  this  is  dreadful  to  think  of!"  cries  Hope 
piteously  at  this  moment. — "  O  dear  God  !"  clasp- 
ing her  hands  and  falling  upon  her  knees,  "hear  us 
— hear  us  now  as  we  pray  to  thee  !  Help  us !  save 
us  !  for  unless  you  do,  we  are  all  lost." 

It  is  surely  in  answer  to  this  impassioned  prayer 
that  just  at  this  moment  Cunnyngham,  who  has 
been  again  looking  through  the  glass,  cries  excited- 
ly as  he  drops  it : 

"Oh  look!  look,  all  of  you  !  for  you  can  sec  it 
plainly  now  without  the  glass.  But  be  careful  to 
keep  within  the  shadow  of  the  trees." 

They  all  obey  this  hastily-given  injunction,  and 
as  they  raise  their  eyes  to  glance  in  the  direction  in 
which  he  is  jwinting  more  than  one  heart  almost 
ceases  to  beat,  so  great  is  the  anxiety  that  now 
takes  possession  of  them. 

The  Zulus  have  come  out  from  the  shelter  of  the 
woods,  have  crossed  the  sandy  strip,  and  are  now 
bearing  straight  toward  them  across  the  grassy  plain. 
But  even  as  the  watchers  under  the  trees  gaze  upon 
them  with  almost  pulseless  hearts  and  bated  breath, 
there  happens  something  that  causes  the  blood  to 
rush  back  again  in  its  normal  condition  and  every 
faculty  to  experience  a  great  reaction. 

*  It  is  the  custom  of  the  Zulus,  wlien  buried  away  from 
home,  to  be  sepultured  with  their  faces  turned  in  the  direction 
of  Zulu-liiud. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  167 

The  Zulus  come  straight  on  with  heads  erect  and 
their  terrible  assegais  catching  and  reflecting  the 
rays  of  the  now  fast  setting  sun.  But  suddenly 
across  their  path,  as  though  frightened  from  their 
covert  by  the  approach  of  the  dread  enemy,  there 
bounds  a  large  herd  of  "  klip-springers,"  or  moun- 
tain gazelles,  a  beautiful  species  of  the  antelope 
tribe.  With  wild  yells,  the  faint  echoes  of  which 
are  borne  to  the  watchers  even  at  this  distance,  the 
Zulus  spring  to  the  chase,  some  brandishing  their 
assegais,  others  making  ready  their  bows  and 
arrows. 

"  They  are  gone  !"  says  Mazika — "  gone  upon 
the  track  of  the  swift-bounding  deer  that  will  lead 
them  a  chase  long  after  the  sun's  setting  ere  they 
are  caught.  Another  way  now  will  the  Zulu  go, 
another  place  will  know  his  camp  for  to-night. 
The  children  of  the  good  father  are  safe." 

"  That  was  certainly  a  miraculous  eseajjc,"  says 
Cunnynghara,  still  white  and  with  his  hands  trem- 
bling in  spite  of  himself. 

"  It  was  God's  mercy,"  says  Ellie  reverently. 
"  Did  you  not  hear  Hope's  prayer  ?" 

When  they  return  to  the  camp  and  tell  the 
others  what  has  happened,  there  are  many  expres- 
sions of  deep  gratitude  at  the  miraculous  escape, 
and  most  fervent  is  the  prayer  of  thankfulness  to 
God  for  all  his  mercies  that  is  offered  up  at  the 
beginning  of  the  evening  meal. 

"  '  Surely  I  know  it  shall  be  well  with  those  who 


1G8  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

fear  God/ "  reads  Pierce  impressively  from  his 
father's  well-worn  Bible,  and  El  lie's  voice  has  a 
stronger  and  fuller  ring  as  it  leads  the  evening 
hymn,  despite  the  fact  that  they  have  to  sing  in 
somewhat  subdued  tones  in  order  to  guard  against 
detection. 

By  six  o'clock  they  have  "  inspanued  "  and  are 
ready  for  the  start,  which  Mazika  tells  them  must 
be  early  in  order  to  reach  by  eleven  o'clock  a  cer- 
tain spot  some  fourteen  miles  distant. 

Their  way  for  many  miles  yet  must  lie  along  the 
course  of  the  river-bed.  Thus,  as  its  banks  are 
very  high  and  deep,  and  in  many  places  shut  in  by 
all  manner  of  dense-growing  shrubbery,  it  will  be 
extremely  difficult  as  well  as  dangerous  to  attempt 
to  travel  after  the  moon  has  gone  down.  There 
will  be  not  only  the  peril  to  be  apj)rehended  from 
lurking  wild  beasts,  but  also  the  danger  of  either 
losing  their  way  or  of  being  dashed  to  pieces  against 
some  of  the  precipitous  ledges  with  which  the  gorge 
is  lined.  As  the  moon  sets  at  a  little  after  eleven, 
it  is  most  important  that  they  shall  have  reached 
their  next  camping-place  by  that  time. 

It  is  a  tortuous  and  trying  journey  along  the 
river-course,  even  with  the  friendly  moonlight  to 
aid  them,  but  beyond  a  thrilling  adventure  with  a 
leopard,  nothing  further  occurs  to  disturb  them. 
This  creature,  which  seems  very  bloodthirsty  and  de- 
termined, suddenly  springs  at  the  throat  of  the  horse 
Mazika  is  leading,  just  as  they  have  entered  one  of 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  169 

the  wildest  portions  of  the  gorge.  It  misses  it,  how- 
ever, and  lauds  in  front  of  the  horse  upon  which 
Pierce  is  mounted.  The  animal  rears  wildly,  and 
but  for  the  youth's  firm  seat  in  the  saddle  would 
surely  unhorse  him.  As  the  crouching  beast  turns 
for  a  second  spring,  this  time  upon  the  Kaffir, 
Jim,  who  has  sprung  forward  to  catch  the  bri- 
dle of  Pierce's  plunging  horse,  a  mighty  swing 
of  Mazika's  great  axe  lays  it  dead  across  their 
path. 

"  Dis  here  mighty  bad  plan  'bout  trabblin'  at 
night,"  philosophizes  Jim  as,  quiet  and  order  hav- 
ing once  more  been  restored,  they  proceed  ou  their 
way.  "Fus'  t'ing  you  know  lion  wid  him  great 
blazin'  eye  gwine  ter  come ;  den  what  happen,  I 
wonder?  But  what  wid  de  sharp  eyes  o'  dem 
sneakin'  Zulu  watchin'  ter  spy  us  out  troo  de  day, 
it  eben  wors'  dan  de  beasts." 

"  There  is  very  little  danger  of  meeting  a  lion 
in  this  section,  I  have  heard  Mazika  say,"  Cun- 
iiyngham  here  reassures  him.  "He  says  there 
isn't  water  enough  to  suit  His  Lordship.  When 
we  get  farther  on,  about  the  '  vleys '  and  big  pools, 
then  we  may  look  out." 

At  a  few  minutes  after  eleven  o'clock,  just  as  the 
moon  is  setting,  they  reach  their  second  camping- 
place.  Here  Mazika  decides  to  keep  a  fire  burning 
through  the  remainder  of  the  night  as  a  precaution 
against  the  attacks  of  numerous  panthers,  wild-cats, 
jackals  and  such  troublesome  and  dangerous  beasts, 


170  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI. 

the  howls  and  cries  of  which  are  already  beginning 
to  sound  unpleasantly  near. 

The  next  night's  march  is  a  repetition  of  the 
preceding  one,  with  the  exception  of  the  adventure 
with  the  leopard,  whicii  in  this  instance  is  substi- 
tuted by  a  most  dangerous  encounter  with  a  fero- 
cious pack  of  ravenous  jackals,  out  of  which  they 
come  at  last  with  safety,  but  with  tlie  loss  of  two 
of  their  sheep  and  one  of  the  goats,  which  are 
killed  and  carried  off  by  these  bloodtliirsty  crea- 
tures. 

That  night,  which  is  the  third  since  their  start- 
ing out,  they  camp  at  a  spot,  still  along  the  bed  of 
the  dried  river-course,  a  little  more  than  fifty  miles 
in  a  slightly  north-westerly  direction  from  tiie  mis- 
sion-station. They  are  now  well  out  of  the  usual 
range  of  the  Zulus  and  Boers,  but  there  is  still 
great  danger,  Mazika  tells  them,  to  be  apjirehended 
from  one  or  two  tribes  that  are  great  allies  of  the 
former,  although  on  most  hostile  terms  with  the 
Boers,  who  have  treated  them  shamefully ;  hence 
they  have  declared  uncompromising  war  upon  all 
the  whites. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

"He  shall  give  bis  angels  charge  concerning  thee." 

THE  spot  that  has  been  selected  as  their  third 
camping-place  is  even  more  wildly  picturesque 
than  that  at  which  they  first  stopped. 

The  rocky  walls  of  the  gorge,  however,  are  not 
so  precipitous  nor  so  high.  Indeed,  there  are  many 
places  at  which  it  is  quite  easy  to  climb  them,  even 
to  the  top,  where  an  unbroken  view  of  the  country 
may  be  had  in  more  than  one  direction.  In  the 
distance  stretches  the  long  line  of  mountains  over 
which  our  travelers  have  passed  in  their  first  night's 
journey.  Farther  beyond,  bolder  and  more  tow- 
ering; crao^s  rear  themselves  against  the  horizon. 
These  last  are  more  than  fifty  miles  away,  yet  so 
dry  and  clear  is  the  atmosphere  that  in  this  wonder- 
ful climate  objects  at  even  a  much  greater  distance 
have  been  known  to  be  visible. 

Although  the  spot  at  which  the  little  caravan  has 
now  halted  until  the  following  night  is  not  so  well 
shut  in  as  those  of  their  previous  camping-places,  it 
is  nevertheless  one  in  which  they  can  with  some 
precaution  lie  securely  hidden.  There  is  on  every 
side  a  luxuriant  tangle  of  trailing  vines,  lush  grasses 

171 


172  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

and  bending  ferns,  with  thick  copijiccs  of  acacia.  A 
little  beyond  the  camping-phice  the  bed  of  the  river 
rnns  ahnost  on  a  level  with  the  surrounding  country, 
forming  a  most  convenient  outlet. 

Here,  a  little  while  after  the  breakfast-hour,  ap- 
pears Mazika  on  his  way  to  reconnoitre  for  the  pur- 
pose of  discovering  if  the  country  in  front  of  them 
is  sufficiently  clear  of  danger  to  allow  of  their  pro- 
ceeding on  their  way.  They  are  now,  he  had  said 
to  them,  about  eight  miles  from  a  village  the  chief 
of  which  is  a  great  ally  of  Mosilikatse.  As  the  way 
before  them  lies  within  less  than  a  mile  of  this  vil- 
lage, it  will  be  quite  dangerous  to  attempt  the  jour- 
ney until  the  outlook  for  a  safe  passage  is  known  to 
be  favorable.  Therefore  the  brave  Zulu  is  deter- 
mined to  satisfy  himself  as  to  this  matter,  and, 
although  it  is  daylight  and  he  will  run  a  great 
risk  in  thus  exposing  himself,  he  nevertheless  sets 
determinedly  forth.  Ere  leaving  he  cautions  the 
party  not  to  quit  the  ravine  for  any  space  of  time, 
to  build  no  fires  until  toward  night  and  to  tether 
the  cattle  so  that  they  will  not  stray. 

It  is  a  long  and  trying  day  to  all,  for,  the  ravine 
being  so  closely  shut  in,  the  heat  is  at  times  almost 
unbearable.  Even  Henrietta,  with  all  her  irre- 
pressible spirits,  seems  for  once  to  have  lost  the 
better  part  of  her  energy  and  liglit-heartedness. 
Nevertheless,  she  determines  to  take  up  again  the 
Catechism  she  had  begun  teaching  Jim  at  the  sta- 
tion, and  which  has  been  sadly  interfered  with  by 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  173 

the  painful  and  exciting  events  of  the  past  weeks. 
Jim  comes  readily  in  response  to  the  notice  she  gives 
him,  the  broad  smile  that  displays  his  great  white 
teeth  showing;  liow  eao;er  he  is  to  resume  the  role  of 
pupil  to  so  charming  a  little  instructress. 

"Jim,  who  made  you  ?"  questions  Miss  Henrietta, 
coming  at  once  to  the  point. 

"  De  great  Man  in  de  sky,  missy." 

"  And  what  is  his  name,  Jim  ?" 

"  Him  name  God,  missy." 

"Of  what  did  he  make  you,  Jim?" 

"  Out'n  de  black  mud,  missy." 

"  Oh  no,  Jim  ;  he  made  you  of  the  dust  of  the 
ground." 

"  Mus'  er  been  mighty  black  dus',  missy," 

"  And  for  what  did  he  make  you  ?" 

"  Ter  'tend  de  cattle  en'  miu'  Miss  Ellie." 

"  Oh  no,  he  didn't,  Jim.  He  made  you  for  some- 
thing far  better  than  that — for  his  own  glory." 

"  What  dat,  missy  ?" 

For  a  moment  Henrietta  is  puzzled.  It  is  indeed 
a  hard  question  for  a  little  girl  to  answer.  But  after 
a  few  moments  of  earnest  thought  she  determines  to 
do  the  best  she  can. 

"When  God  made  man,  Jim,"  she  says  at  length, 
speaking  very  slowly  and  impressively,  "  he  made 
him  in  his  own  image;  and  because  he  had  made  him 
in  his  own  image  God  was  very  proud  of  him  and 
wanted  him  to  feel  how  good  it  was  to  be  made  in 
the   Creator's   image.     He   hoped,  too,  that  when 


174  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

man  saw  how  glorious  was  the  iiiia<:;c  in  whioli  he 
liad  l)een  made,  he  would  do  evervtiiing  he  could  to 
lionor  it;  that  is,  that  he  would  do  nothing  vile  or 
sinful,  nothing  that  would  make  God  sorry  that  he 
had  given  him  his  own  likeness,  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  would  do  all  he  could  to  make  himself  more 
like  God,  good  and  pure  and  true,  so  that  God,  see- 
ing how  beautiful  was  the  work  he  had  made,  would 
take  glory  in  it." 

" Anj  dere  a  black  God,  missy?" 

"Oh  no,  Jim;  there  is  but  the  one  God — pure 
and  white  and  radiant." 

"  Den  him  nebber  mek  Jim,  missy,"  with  mourn- 
ful conviction. 

"Oh  yes,  he  did,  Jim;  he  made  us  all,  you  as 
well  as  me." 

"  But  you  said,  missy,  'im  mek  um  all  in  Mm  own 
picter,  en'  dat  'im  pure  and  white.  Now,  poor  Jim, 
'im  so  black  !" 

"Oh,  it  does  not  matter  about  your  skin,  Jim. 
It  is  in  your  heart  where  the  true  likeness  of  God 
is  placed.  If  your  heart  is  pure,  then  you  may 
know  that  God  is  there." 

Here  Ellie  calls  Henrietta,  and  the  lesson  is 
ended,  for  this  time  at  least. 

About  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  Mazika  re- 
turns. The  signs  are  favorable,  he  tells  them,  for  a 
safe  passage  around  the  hostile  village,  though  the 
utmost  caution  will  be  required.  This  evening  a 
great  feast  is  to  be  given  in  honor  of  some  exploit 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  175 

of  the  chief,  Moudokoro,  to  which  many  Zulus 
have  beeu  invited.  Doubtless  the  Zulus  they  have 
seen  on  that  evening  at  their  first  camping-place 
have  been  on  their  way  thither.  At  ten  o'clock 
Avill  occur  the  great  war-dance,  and  if  they  can 
manaire  to  reach  the  neiw-hborhood  of  the  village 
while  this  is  taking  place  it  will  be  about  the  safest 
opportunity  of  getting  by  unobserved. 

The  start  is  arranged  for  seven  o'clock,  and  it  is 
their  determination  to  put  at  least  twenty  miles 
between  the  hostile  village  and  their  next  stopping- 
place.  To  accomplish  this  it  will  be  necessary  to 
travel  not  only  all  night,  but  well  into  the  next 
day,  as  the  route  over  which  they  will  have  to  pass, 
with  the  exception  of  some  five  or  six  miles,  will 
lead  for  the  most  part  over  level  tracts,  many  of 
them  treeless,  and  others,  again,  only  thinly  ver- 
dured ;  and  as  Mazika  is  altogether  familiar  with  the 
route,  there  will  be  little  danger,  he  assures  them, 
of  their  losing  the  track  in  the  dark  after  the  moon 
has  set.  If  there  was,  there  would  be  the  light  of 
the  stars  to  guide  them. 

As  they  are  preparing  their  evening  meal  a  very 
exciting  thing  happens. 

Just  as  they  are  all  gathered  near  the  fire,  where 
a  pot  of  goat's  meat  is  boiling,  their  attention  is 
suddenly  attracted  by  the  heavy  crash  and  subse- 
quent trampling  of  some  large  animal  that  has 
evidently  leaped  from  some  little  height  into  the 
gorge,  and  is  now  running  up  it  toward  their  camp. 


17G  CHILDREN   OF  THE  KALAUARI: 

"  To  that  ledge  of  rock  at  the  side  of  the  gorge, 
quick,  all  of  you  !"  Cunuynghani  cries,  and  hurries 
tlioni  thither  not  a  moment  too  soon. 

The  next  instant  there  is  the  piercing  cry  of  "  Bo- 
rele!  borele!"  (the  black  rhinoceros!  the  black  rhi- 
noceros!) from  Kamati,  followed  immediately  there- 
after by  the  appearance  in  the  cleared  spot  that  forms 
their  camping-place  of  a  full-grown  black  rhinoceros 
charging  at  headlong  speed.  The  first  thing  it 
encounters  is  the  rear  end  of  the  wagon  turned 
slightly  sideways  across  the  line  of  its  course. 
With  one  thrust  of  its  deadly  horn  it  dashes  the 
chicken-coop  to  splinters,  kills  three  of  the  fowls, 
and  sends  the  others  flying  in  terror  to  the  shelter 
of  the  thorn-coppices.  From  the  wagon  the  great 
beast  charges  full  tilt  upon  the  fire  where  the  pot 
is  boiling,  overturns  it  and  scatters  the  burning 
brands  in  every  direction. 

"Aim  for  the  shoulder!"  Cunnyngham  cries  to 
Pierce,  who  fortunately  has  his  rifle  in  his  hand  at  the 
time  of  the  infuriated  animal's  entrance  of  the  camp. 

He  obeys,  but  the  excitement  of  the  moment  has 
rendered  his  hand  unsteady,  and  instead  of  striking 
the  monster  brute  in  the  shoulder  the  ball  enters 
a  portion  of  the  spine.  But  it  is  a  most  fortunate 
shot,  and  made  not  a  moment  too  soon.  In  another 
instant  the  maddened  beast  would  have  charged  full 
upon  the  trembling  group  crouched  within  the 
shadow  of  the  overhanging  rock.  But  as  Pierce's 
bullet  penetrates  the  spine,  it  has  the  effect  of  par- 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  177 

tially  paralyzing  it,  so  that  for  an  instant  it  stands 
perfectly  motionless.  The  next  moment  Pierce  has 
taken  aim  npon  the  huge  exposed  shoulder  and  fired 
the  second  time.  It  is  a  splendid  shot,  for  the  ball, 
ploughing  its  way  through  the  thick  fold  of  skin, 
pierces  the  heart  and  brings  the  animal  witii  one 
wild  plunge  to  the  ground. 

The  slain  rhinoceros  is  a  huge  beast,  and  proves, 
after  careful  examination,  to  be  in  unusually  good 
order  for  one  of  his  kind.  Some  steaks  are  there- 
fore cut  from  the  tenderest  part  and  thrown  upon 
the  coals  to  broil,  in  place  of  the  stew  of  goat's  meat 
the  infuriated  animal  has  so  wantonly  destroyed. 

A  most  pathetic  little  incident  happens  as  the 
carcass  of  the  huge  beast  is  dragged  away.  Under 
one  of  his  great  feet  is  found  a  mangled  and  shape- 
less mass  of  soft  fur  that,  as  they  gaze  upon  it,  they 
recognize  as  all  that  is  left  of  poor  little  Kitten 
Lightfoot,  one  of  the  most  headstrong  and  disobe- 
dient of  Madame  Tea-kettle's  somewhat  willful 
family.  Instead  of  remaining  to  play  with  his 
little  brothers  and  sisters  on  the  skin  rug  over  by 
the  great  rock,  where  Henrietta  has  placed  them, 
and  where  Madame  Tea-kettle  herself  stays  to  keep 
close  watch  over  her  somewhat  unmanageable  little 
family.  Kitten  Lightfoot,  puffed  up  with  a  sense  of 
his  own  importance  and  of  his  mother's  old-fogyish 
ways,  has  wandered  off  in  search  of  adventures; 
and  this  has  been  his  end  ! 

"  Poor   little   Kitten !"  says   Henrietta,  sobbing 

12 


178  CHILDREN  OF  TlIK  KALMIART: 

over  his  shapeless  remains,  "  you  were  very  naughty, 
I  know,  and  gave  your  poor  nianinia  heaps  of  trou- 
ble, but  I  ciiu't  help  feeling  sorry  for  you.  If  all  of  us 
■who  are  ugly  and  naughty,  and  don't  every  time  do  as 
we  are  told  to  do,  were  to  be  taken  off  becjuise  of  our 
naughtiness,  there  would  be  awfully  few  of  us  left. — 
Marviu,"  she  continues,  "  let  us  bury  Kitten,  and  let 
us  write  something  over  liis  grave  that  will  warn 
all  the  little  children-beasts  how  very,  very  sinful 
it  is  to  be  disobedient  to  their  parents." 

"  But  they  couldn't  read  it,"  says  Marvin  sturdily. 

"  Well,  maybe  they'll  somehow  know.  At  any 
rate,  I'd  feel  better  if  I  did  it,  somehow  as  if  I'd 
'tended  to  a  warning  I'd  been  asked  to  make." 

So  the  tiny  grave  is  dug  and  the  remains  of  the 
poor  little  disobedient  Kitten  laid  therein,  carefully 
enveloped  in  one  of  Cuunyngham's  well-worn  hand- 
kerchiefs, which  he  cheerfully  contributes  for  the 
occasion.  When  the  tiny  mound  is  raised  this  epi- 
taph is  placed  at  the  head  thereof,  carefully  printed 
in  Pierce's  best  hand : 

Co  tte  iHfmorp 

OF 

KITTEN  LTGHTFOOT, 

Son  of  Mrs.  Pussy  Tea-kettle  Grey 

(AVidow  of  Tlionias  Grey), 

Who  was  Walked  on  by  the  Big  Rhinoceros, 

April  17,  188-, 

Fob  Running  away  from  his  Motheb. 

ChUdreriy  obey  your  parents. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  179 

In  a  short  while,  by  means  of  some  strips  of 
plank  they  have  fortunately  brought  with  them, 
another  chicken-coop  is  constructed.  The  fowls 
are  soon  coaxed  back  to  the  clearing  by  means  of  a 
generous  sprinkling  of  grain  thrown  to  them  by 
Ellie  and  Hope,  and,  as  they  shortly  go  to  roost 
on  some  low  bushes  near  by,  they  are  finally  caught 
and  returned  to  the  coop  with  but  little  trouble. 

This  accident  delays  them  somewhat,  and  it  ia  not 
until  nearly  eight  o'clock  that  the  start  is  made. 

By  following  closely  and  carefully  the  many 
cautious  directions  of  Mazika  they  are  enabled  at 
last  to  get  safely  around  the  hostile  village,  but 
they  catch  an  idea  of  just  how  critical  is  the  situa- 
tion from  the  various  sounds  that  from  time  to  time 
are  borne  to  them  from  the  centre  of  the  village, 
where  the  leaping,  howling  savages  are  holding  high 
carnival. 

As  they  reach  a  point  about  half  a  mile  beyond 
the  village  Pierce  rides  back  to  where  Pitsane  has 
lingered  to  help  Jim  bring  up  a  few  head  of  strag- 
gling cattle,  and  to  make  sure  that  there  is  no  sign 
of  discovery  or  pursuit. 

"  Pitsane,"  Pierce  says  as  soon  as  Jim  starts  to 
the  front  with  his  stray  cattle,  "  I  am  fairly  de- 
voured with  curiosity  to  return  and  see  the  sights 
that  are  going  on  in  that  village.  Mazika  tells  me 
that  as  soon  as  Moudokoro's  people  are  through,  the 
Zulus  present  are  going  to  engage  in  the  genuine  old 
Zulu  war-dance.     Do  you  not  think  we  might  man- 


180  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

age  to  crcej)  up  near  enough  to  see  witliout  being 
seen  ?" 

Pitsane  sliakcs  his  head  donhtfully  : 

"  Pitsane  thinks  not.  There  would  be  many 
risks,  and  Pitsane  would  never  forgive  himself 
did  he  not  warn  the  sou  of  the  good  father  of  the 
great  danger." 

"  But  if  we  are  cautious  we  can  surely  creep 
through  the  woods  without  being  detected.  We 
can  fasten  our  horses  in  that  clump  of  trees  there 
and  make  our  way  to  the  village  on  foot.  The  sav- 
ages will  be  so  taken  up  with  their  dancing  and  feast- 
ing that  they  will  not  think  of  anything  else.  We'll 
take  care  to  keep  Avithin  the  shelter  of  the  brush- 
wood. Come,  Pitsane,  let  us  risk  it.  We  can 
easily  overtake  the  others  in  an  hour's  time. 
Come,  teach  me  your  trick  of  gliding  along  noise- 
lessly. I  believe  you  Hottentots  could  make  your 
way  over  creaking  floors  without  giving  forth  a 
single  sound." 

Thus  importuned,  Pitsane  at  last  consents,  but 
still  against  his  better  judgment. 

Tying  their  horses  securely  within  the  thicket 
Pierce  has  pointed  out,  they  cautiously  make  their 
way  in  the  direction  of  the  village.  Between  this 
thicket  and  the  stretch  of  woods  that  encloses  the 
town  of  INIondokoro  there  is  an  open  space  of  wav- 
ing grass,  with  here  and  there  a  single  scrubby 
mimosa  or  a  tussock  of  thorns  and  thistles.  If 
they  should  be  discovered  while  crossing  this,  there 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  181 

would  be  little  chance  for  concealment.  They,  how- 
ever reach  the  shelter  of  the  woods  on  the  other  side 
without  detection.  Here  Pitsaue  pauses  and  places 
his  finger  upon  his  lips  as  a  sign  for  perfect  silence. 
Then  throwing  his  body  forward  he  begins  to  ad- 
v^ance  through  the  matted  underbrush  with  a  half- 
creeping,  half-gliding  movement  that  is  absolutely 
noiseless.  Pierce  endeavors  to  imitate  him,  and 
finally  succeeds  very  well,  though  he  fully  realizes 
that  even  with  years  of  careful  practice  he  will  never 
acquire  the  perfection  of  soundless  movement  that 
seems  to  be  a  very  part  of  the  gliding  Hottentot. 

Ere  they  have  advanced  more  than  two  hundred 
and  fifty  or  three  hundred  yards  they  catch  sight 
of  the  glow  of  the  fires  burning  within  the  open 
space  in  the  centre  of  the  village.  Five  minutes 
more,  and  they  can  see  clearly  the  outlines  of  the 
dome-shaped  huts  straggling  in  somewhat  irregular 
lines  across  the  clearing.  A  little  nearer  still,  and 
now  they  can  plainly  distinguish  many  moving 
forms  and  catch  snatches  of  noisy  shouts  and  of 
excited  conversation.  Creeping  to  the  edge  of  the 
clearing  and  cautiously  concealing  themselves  behind 
a  tangled  mass  of  undergrowth,  and  within  the 
shadow  of  a  tall  tree  that  towers  many  feet  above 
them,  they  are  now  enabled  to  see  and  hear  much 
of  what  is  passing  within  the  village. 

The  first  dance  seems  to  have  been  over  for  some 
little  time,  and  the  Zulus  are  now  preparing  for 
the  great   feature  of  the   night's   revelry.     There 


182  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

are  a  liuudrcd  or  more  of  tliein,  all  totally  nude 
and  with  their  gleaming  blaek  bodi(;.s  smeared 
from  head  to  foot  with  a  horrid  mixture  of  grease 
and  red  clay.  In  the  glow  of  the  fire  they  look 
more  like  demons  than  men,  and  as  Pierce  glances 
at  them  a  shudder  passes  over  him.  To  add  still 
further  to  their  horrible  appearance,  they  are  throw- 
ing their  faces  into  all  sorts  of  contortions  and  ges- 
ticulating wildly  with  their  arms. 

A  loud  beating  noise  upon  some  rude,  drum-like 
instrument  now  summons  them  to  the  dance,  when 
they  quickly  place  themselves  in  a  circle.  The 
drum  now  ceases  to  beat  and  the  dance  begins, 
with  a  slow  movement  to  a  sort  of  humming  noise 
that  is  made  by  a  group  of  women  who  have  sta- 
tioned themselves  in  the  rear.  The  men  now  begin 
to  stamp  and  keep  time  with  their  feet  until  the  ex- 
citement, gradually  increasing,  culminates  finally  in 
a  simultaneous  spring,  accompanied  by  a  series  of 
most  blood-curdling  shouts.  This  seems  to  urge 
the  now  thoroughly  possessed  actors  to  a  most 
unnatural  frenzy,  during  which  they  throw  their 
bodies  about  in  the  most  terrible  abandon  and  their 
already  hideous  faces  into  such  horrible  contortions 
as  strike  a  sick  fear  to  the  heart  of  Pierce,  and 
make  him  wish  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart  that 
he  had  not  been  so  foolhardy  as  to  venture  into  such 
danger.  For  just  how  great  a  danger  is  this  into 
which  his  curiosity  and  rash  impetuousncss  have 
led  him  he  sees  now  plainly  enough.     The  picture 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  183 

of  these  howling,  leaping  savages  going  through  all 
these  horrible  contortions  is  indeed  sufficient  to  pro- 
duce in  even  the  strongest  mind  the  most  appalling 
sensations.  The  dusky  glare  of  the  fire,  too,  blaz- 
ing in  front  of  the  dancing  warriors  during  their 
wild  and  unearthly  evolutions,  added  to  the  flaming 
torches  which  many  of  them  have  snatched  from 
the  burning  heaps  and  are  now  whirling  wildly 
around  their  heads,  gives  an  additional  degree  of 
awful  effect  to  the  terrible  scene.  At  length,  nature 
having  thoroughly  exhausted  itself,  the  savages 
begin  one  by  one  to  drop  out  of  the  ring  and  to  fall 
along  the  ground,  Nvhere  they  lie  nearly  motionless. 
Finally,  the  movements  of  those  who  are  left  grow 
slower  and  slower,  though  every  now  and  then 
there  is  a  convulsive  effort  on  the  part  of  some  one 
of  them  to  throw  the  body  into  wilder  contortions 
than  any  yet  essayed.  Suddenly  there  is  a  loud  tap  of 
the  drum-like  instrument,  similar  to  that  with  which 
the  dance  has  begun,  at  sound  of  which  the  strained 
evolutions  of  the  remaining  warriors  instantly  cease. 
They  are  at  once  surrounded  by  a  great  company  of 
the  villagers,  men,  women  and  children,  who  crowd 
about  them  to  offer  congratulations  upon  the  won- 
derful power  displayed  by  them  in  holding  out  so 
long.  This  lasts  for  some  minutes,  during  which 
those  warriors  who  have  fallen  out  before  the  dance 
ended  also  come  forward  to  compliment  their  more 
successful  companions,  which  is  done  with  very  good 
grace  considering  their  own  defeat. 


184  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

Just  as  the  savages  are  on  the  point  of  breaking 
up  to  take  their  way  to  various  parts  of  the  village, 
Pierce  gives  Pitsane  the  signal  for  their  own  de- 
parture. But,  unfortunately,  at  this  moment,  in 
turning  around,  the  youth's  foot  treads  upon  a  dry 
twig,  which  at  once  breaks  asunder,  giving  forth  a 
sharp,  snapping  sound.  In  an  instant  several  of 
the  heads  of  the  savages  who  are  the  nearest  to 
them  are  thrown  back  and  turned  in  the  direction 
whence  the  sound  has  issued.  Pierce's  heart  begins 
to  beat  violently,  for  he  feai"s  that  all  is  now  lost. 
And  it  does,  in  truth,  seem  so,  especially  as  some 
half  dozen  of  the  savages  now  start  up,  evidently 
as  thouo-h  with  the  intention  of  making  toward  the 
spot  where  the  Hottentot  and  youth  are  now  crouch- 
ing in  momentary  terror  of  being  discovered.  In  a 
few  seconds  more  all  would  indeed  be  over  with 
them  but  for  a  timely  diversion  that  now  occurs. 

The  sound  of  the  snapping  twig  has  fallen  upon 
other  ears  besides  those  of  the  savages,  and  evi- 
dently with  a  note  of  alarm.  Near  where  Pierce 
and  Pitsane  have  been  crouching  two  hyenas,  one 
of  them  but  little  more  than  half  grown,  have 
taken  up  their  stand,  waiting  for  the  savages  to 
disperse,  so  that  they  may  feast  upon  the  bones  of 
the  various  animals  that  have  been  slaughtered  and 
eaten  during  the  evening.  At  sound  of  the  snap- 
ping twig  the  younger  has  been  considerably  start- 
led, and  just  as  the  savages  have  started  up  to  make 
their  way  to  the  spot  where  Pierce  and  Pitsane  are 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  185 

crouching,  the  auimal,  with  one  frightened  bound, 
springs  into  the  midst  of  the  clearing  directly  in 
front  of  them.  With  a  loud  shout  one  of  the  men 
impales  the  terror-stricken  animal  upon  the  point 
of  his  spear.  Apparently  satisfied  that  the  break- 
ing twig  has  been  caused  by  the  hyena,  the  savages, 
after  a  short  consultation,  returu  to  the  circle  of 
light  produced  by  the  blazing  fires,  thus  enabling 
the  Hottentot  and  the  youth  to  steal  cautiously 
away  from  their  dangerous  hiding-place. 

"  That  was  a  close  run,  Pitsaue,"  Pierce  says  at 
length,  as  some  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  later  they 
reach  in  safety  the  thicket  where  their  horses  are 
fastened.  "■  I  tell  you  what,  old  fellow,"  he  con- 
tinues, when,  having  mounted,  they  ride  slowly 
and  cautiously  away  for  fear  of  the  sound  of  their 
horses'  hoofs  attracting  attention,  "  curiosity  when 
not  properly  directed  is  a  bad  thing.  Here,  for  the 
mere  sake  of  seeing  how  those  ugly  Zulus  looked 
when  engaged  in  that  great  war-dance  of  theirs,  I 
imperiled  not  only  my  own  life,  but  that  of 
another." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"How  manifold  are  thy  works!" 

PIERCE  and  Pitsane  have  not  proceeded  more 
tlian  two  miles  on  their  way  wlien  tliey  catch 
sight  of  a  figure  riding  rapidly  toward  them  across 
the  open  plain.  It  proves  to  be  Cunnyngham,  who, 
having  grown  alarmed  at  their  protracted  absence, 
has  returned  in  search  of  them. 

Pierce  feels  more  deej)ly  than  ever  the  inexcusa- 
bleness  of  his  conduct  when  he  learns  how  much 
his  sister  and  cousin  have  been  distressed  in  regard 
to  his  disapjiearance,  and  then  and  there  forms  a 
firm  resolve  never  to  be  guilty  of  so  thoughtless 
and  so  rash  an  act  again. 

The  little  caravan  is  overtaken  some  six  miles 
beyond  the  village.  The  moon  has  now  gone  down 
and  there  is  only  the  light  of  the  stars  to  guide 
them.  But  this  seems  to  be  sufficient  for  Mazika, 
ibr  not  ouce  does  he  lead  them  astray  from  the 
course,  even  conducting  them  safely  over  an  outly- 
ing ridge  of  the  mountains  over  which  they  passed 
during  their  first  night's  travel.  Here  the  path 
has  to  be  cleared  by  the  use  of  axes. 

While  crossing  this  range  tlioy  have  at  the  hour 

186 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  187 

of  midnight  the  rare  delight  of  hearing  rich,  liquid 
bird-notes  in  a  roundelay  as  sweet  and  pure  as  ever 
issued  from  the  throat  of  feathered  songster.  la 
delighted  surprise  the  weary  travelers  pause  to 
listen,  each  liquid  note  falling  with  a  sweet  and 
indescribable  effect  upon  their  hearts  and  seeming 
to  make  suddenly  glad  all  the  dreary  way. 

"  That  is  assuredly  the  '  little  shepherd,' "  says 
Cunnyngham  as  he  rides  near  the  wagon  where 
Ellie  and  Hope  are  sitting.  "  I  have  often  read 
accounts  of  travelers  who  spoke  of  this  bird,  and 
of  the  inspiring  effects  its  glad,  beautiful  notes  had 
upon  them,  coming  thus  unexpectedly  in  the  dead 
of  night." 

" '  The  little  shepherd  '  ?"  repeats  Ellie,  interrog- 
atively.    "  Why  is  it  called  that  ?" 

"  It  was  said  to  have  been  so  named  by  some  of 
the  native  farmers  and  herders  because  of  its  famil- 
iarity in  approaching  them  while  tending  their  sheep, 
as  well  as  from  the  affection  it  is  said  to  display  for 
these  woolly  animals.  It  is  a  very  gentle  and  harm- 
less bird,  and  I  dare  say  if  we  could  gain  a  sight  of 
this  brave  little  fellow,  who  sings  so  cheerily  in  the 
midst  of  this  darkness  and  desolation,  he  would  show 
little,  if  any,  disposition  to  fly  away  from  us." 

They  travel  steadily  all  night,  only  stopping  at 
short  intervals  to  rest  the  tired  cattle,  and  once  for 
about  an  hour  to  give  them  water  from  the  casks 
in  the  wagon. 

By  eight  o'clock  the  following  morning  they  have 


188  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

put  fully  sixteen  miles  between  them  and  the  hostile 
village,  IMaziku  tells  them,  but  they  lack  a  good  six 
miles'  journey  yet  of  reaching  the  spot  where  they 
are  to  halt.  A  snack  of  biscuit  and  biltong  (dried 
game-flesh)  is  eaten  as  they  go  along,  washed  down 
with  water  from  the  casks,  which  they  find  a  little 
warm  and  unpalatable  from  its  standing  since  the 
preceding  night.  But  despite  this  drawback  they 
drink  it  gratefully,  thinking  how  much  worse  it 
might  be  if  they  had  none  at  all. 

The  sun  has  now  grown  very  warm,  almost  un- 
bearably so  whenever  a  strip  of  woods  is  left  and 
they  come  out  upon  an  open  plain.  More  and 
more  frequent  now  grow  these  plains  or  treeless 
tracts.  The  country,  too,  has  undergone  quite  a 
change.  It  is  much  less  rugged,  and  the  forest 
growths  are  not  so  deep  in  their  verdure.  Instead 
of  the  widespreading  banian,  there  are  now  more 
pines  and  palms,  with  many  clumps  of  a  tree  that 
resembles  the  wild  olive. 

Here,  too,  in  great  abundance  grows  the  camel- 
thorn  or  acacia-giraffe,  called  by  the  Dutch  "  ka- 
meel-dorn,"  and  so  named  because  of  the  fondness 
shown  for  it  l)y  the  cameloj)ard.  It  is  also  the 
tree.  Pierce  tells  Ellie  and  Hope,  that  gave  Dr. 
Livingstone  the  belief  that  it  was  the  same  as  that 
of  which  the  ark  of  the  covenant  and  the  frame 
of  the  tabernacle  were  made. 

"And  is  it  really  so?"  Hope  asks. 

"I  do  not  know,  but  J  think  it  is.     Dr.  Liv- 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  189 

ingstoue  fully  believed  it,  and  gave  raauy  proofs  to 
sustain  his  belief.  One  is  that  its  wood  answers 
accurately  the  description  of  it  given  in  sacred  his- 
tory, and  the  other  is  that  the  tree  is  found  where 
the  Israelites  were  at  the  time  that  the  ark  and 
tabernacle  were  built?" 

"  But  I  thought  they  were  made  of  shittira-wood?" 
Ellie  says. 

''  So  they  were,  sister,  and  I  suppose  that  is  the 
name  by  which  the  camel-thorn  was  known  at  that 
day  and  in  that  place.  The  tabernacle,  as  we  know, 
was  fitted  up  in  the  wilderness,  or,  more  definitely 
speaking,  the  desert  of  Arabia.  As  no  other  tree 
from  which  timber  of  any  size  or  durability  could 
have  been  obtained  grows  there  except  the  acacia, 
and  as  the  acacia-giraffe  is  one  of  the  most  abun- 
dant of  this  species,  there  is  then  full  evidence  that 
it  is  the  tree  alluded  to  as  the  shittim.  Dr.  Liv- 
ingstone proved  by  careful  observation,  as  well  as 
by  experiment  in  various  ways,  that  the  wood  of 
the  camel-thorn  is  imperishable,  while  that  usually 
pointed  out  as  the  shittira-wood  not  only  soon  de- 
cays, but  lacks  beauty." 

Again  and  again  as  they  pass  on  their  way  they 
come  in  sight  of  numerous  antelopes,  either  peace- 
fully feeding  or  scampering  away  at  their  approach. 
Indeed,  the  whole  face  of  the  country  seems  richly 
stocked  with  these  graceful  and  beautiful  animals. 
But  for  the  peculiar  character  of  their  horns  many 
of  them  mio-ht  be  taken  for  deer. 


190  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

As  they  are  pas.sing  a  slightly  elevated  mouud 
a  short  distance  to  the  right  of  the  track  they  are 
iollowing,  they  catch  a  moraciitary  glimpse  of  a  large 
fine  genisbok  stiuuling  alone,  wiiile  below  him  ou  the 
plain  a  number  of  his  fellows  are  grazing. 

Another  animal  of  the  antelope  species  of  which 
they  have  a  very  good  view  as  it  gaRops  off  across 
the  plain  in  front  of  them  is  the  nyl-ghau  or  white- 
footed  antelo])e.  It  is  one  of  the  most  peculiar 
they  have  yet  seen,  seeming  to  partake  of  the  na- 
ture of  both  the  antelope  and  the  ox.  It  is  most 
majestic  in  its  carriage  and  bright  in  its  coloring, 
the  predominant  hue  being  a  steely  blue  that  fairly 
glittei*s  as  the  back  of  the  glossy  animal  catches  the 
rays  of  the  sun.  Intermingled  with  the  blue  are 
several  white  patches  here  and  there.  From  the 
throat  and  shoulders  hangs  a  dense  bunch  of  hair. 
It  is  the  largest  of  any  of  the  antelopes  they  have 
yet  seen,  being  over  four  feet  from  the  ground  at 
the  shoulders. 

"It  is  unusual  to  see  a  fellow  of  that  species 
out  here  in  the  daytime,"  remarks  Pierce.  "But 
I  suppose  hunger  drove  him  from  his  covert. 
According  to  travelers  who  are  familiar  with  his 
habits,  he  is  said  to  do  most  of  his  feeding  at 
night." 

"  Well,  he  does  look  like  a  coward  galloping 
away  from  us  as  he  is  doing  now,"  observes  Hope. 

"But  on  the  contrary,  cousin,  he  is  very  coura- 
geous, constantly  being  known  to  attack  even  the 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  191 

leopard  and  tiger,  although  he  is  very  well  a^vare 
of  the  fiict  that  these  great  enemies  of  his  usually 
get  the  better  of  him.  It  is  only  shyness  that  is 
the  matter  with  him  now.  He  has  doubtless  never 
seen  such  a  sight  before  on  these  plains  as  our  im- 
posing little  caravan  presents." 

The  most  curious  of  all  the  interesting  animals 
of  which  they  have  a  sight  is  the  harness  deer.  As 
Marvin  catches  a  glimpse  of  it  bounding  off  before 
them  he  suddenly  calls  out  to  Pierce : 

"  Oh,  brother,  do  look  at  that  goat  with  a  saddle 
on  his  back  !" 

They  all  have  a  hearty  laugh  at  this;  but  indeed 
the  illusion  is  almost  perfect,  and  it  is  no  wonder 
the  little  fellow  is  deceived  thereby.  The  peculiar 
marks  upon  the  body  of  this  strange  animal  make 
him  look  at  a  distance  exactly  as  if  he  had  not 
only  a  saddle,  but  also  a  set  of  harness,  fastened 
to  his  back. 

Of  birds  there  seems  no  end.  The  strips  of  for- 
est through  which  they  pass  are  faii-ly  alive  with 
them,  and  the  trills  of  delicious  melody  as  they 
sing  their  morning  roundelays  fill  hearts  and  ears 
with  gladness.  There  is  a  magnificent  species  of 
the  hoopoe,  almost  entirely  of  a  deep  rich  purple 
color.  There  are  also  pigeons  innumerable,  but 
these  are  generally  seen  only  in  pairs,  running 
along  the  ground  picking  up  insects  and  seeds 
from  the  grass. 

They  come   upon  many  nests  of  various  kinds 


192  CHILDREN   OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

of  birds,  some  of  them  altogether  different  from 
any  they  have  ever  seen.  One  of  these  nests  is 
like  a  iiorn  in  shape,  suspended  with  the  point 
downward.  Its  greatest  diameter  is  about  three 
inches,  gradually  diminishing  toward  the  base.  It 
has  for  some  time  been  abandoned,  and  as  Pitsane 
detaches  it  from  its  resting-place  between  two 
branches  of  a  mimosa  tree  and  brings  it  to  them, 
all  bend  over  it  with  many  exclamations  of  curios- 
ity and  wonder. 

Another  remarkable  nest  is  one  fully  two  and  a 
lialf  yards  in  circumference  and  more  than  a  yard 
in  length.  It  seems  to  have  been  the  home  of  sev- 
eral birds  instead  of  one,  all  of  them  quite  small,  and, 
judging  by  a  poor  dead  inmate,  to  have  been  birds 
somewhat  resembling  the  goldfinch.  At  the  bottom 
of  this  nest  there  are  as  many  as  seventeen  holes  or 
entrance-places,  and  near  the  centre  and  top  at  least 
as  many  more.  This  strange  nest  is  among  the 
upper  branches  of  a  thick  shrub-like  tree,  and  as 
he  rides  uj)  near  it  Pierce  can  easily  reach  it  with 
his  extended  hand.  As  he  is  on  the  point  of  bring- 
ing it  down  for  the  others  to  have  a  view,  some- 
thing flies  suddenly  and  awkwardly  forth,  almost 
into  his  face,  and  the  next  moment  with  a  clumsy 
beat  of  wings  a  horned  owl  alights  ujwn  a  limb, 
or  rather  falls  in  a  blind  sort  of  way  to  a  limb 
below. 

A  mile  or  more  farther  on  Hope  suddenly  rises 
to  her  feet  in  the  wagon,  so  great  is  her  excitement 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  193 

at  what  she  has  discovered,  while  she  exclaims  hur- 
riedly, 

"  Oh,  do  you  see  that  great  basket  hanging  up 
near  the  top  of  that  tree !  Wlio  could  have  put 
it  there,  I  wonder?" 

"  It  is  not  a  basket,  cousin,"  says  Cunnyngham, 
laughing;  "it  is  a  bird's  nest." 

"A  bird's  nest?"  incredulously. 

"  Yes,  a  bird's  nest,  or  rather  the  nest  of  many 
birds.  If  I  mistake  not,  that  is  the  former  home 
of  a  company  of  the  sociable  grosbeaks,  who  have 
now  doubtless  gone  to  seek  another  neighborhood 
where  bugs,  berries  and  seeds  are  more  numerous. 
At  any  rate,  it  seems  so  from  here.  But  let  us 
stop,  and  I  will  send  Pitsane  to  get  the  nest.  If 
it  is  really  what  I  think  it  is,  it  will  be  well  worth 
an  examination." 

It  proves  indeed,  as  Cunnyngham  has  said,  "well 
worth  an  examination,"  for  never  have  they  seen 
anything  more  curious  and  wonderful  in  bird-archi- 
tecture. 

While  suspended  from  the  tree  it  has  had  the 
basket-like  appearauce  that  has  deceived  Hope,  but 
now  that  it  is  removed,  and  they  have  a  closer  view, 
it  bears  more  resemblance  to  a  hogshead  than  to 
anything  else.  It  is  fully  three  yards  in  circum- 
ference, and  is  composed  of  a  strong  coarse  straw 
regularly  thatched,  the  straw  having  been  so  inge- 
niously woven  that  all  the  ends  point  downward, 
thus  avoiding  the  possibility  of  the  rain  entering. 

13 


194  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI. 

"There  is  wonderful  instinct  for  you  !"  says 
Cunnynohain  jidniiriiii^Iy.  "  Who  will  say  now 
that  birds  haven't  a  rare  amount  of  intelligence? 
To  think  these  little  fellows  have  so  much  sense  as 
to  build  their  abode  after  this  ingenious  fashion  !" 

By  half-past  ten  o'clock  the  little  airavan  reaches 
a  small  strip  of  woods  surrounded  on  three  sides  by 
a  plain  covered  by  tall  waving  grasses  and  gemmed 
with  myriads  of  brilliantly  variegate<;l  wild  flowei*s. 
On  the  fourth  side  it  leads  away  into  a  much  denser 
forest,  near  the  edge  of  which  are  heaped  up  many 
wild  and  picturesque-looking  rocks.  In  tiie  midst 
of  these  there  is  a  deep  "  vley,"  or  pool,  where, 
Mazika  tells  them,  many  animals  come  to  drink. 
This,  he  says,  is  to  be  their  camping-place,  and  here 
the  tired  animals  are  at  once  outspanned,  and  here 
also  the  fatigued  travelers  seek  the  inviting  shade 
of  the  trees  with  deep  thankfulness  that  the  long, 
hot  ride  is  at  length  at  an  end. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

"Lo,  I  am  with  you  alway." 

IT  is  now  Friday,  and  they  are  fully  eighty-five 
miles  from  their  starting-point,  and  about  half 
the  distance  to  the  Kalahari  desert.  As  the  spot 
at  which  they  have  now  halted  affords  many  attrac- 
tions as  a  camping-place,  and  as  the  poor  tired  ani- 
mals seem  much  worn  out  with  their  recent  hard 
trip,  it  is  determined,  after  some  consultation,  to 
remain  here  until  the  following  Monday  morning, 
deciding  to  make  the  start  then  by  the  break  of 
day,  in  order  to  get  through,  ere  night  falls,  the 
dense  strip  of  forest  that  lies  between  them  and 
the  open  plains  beyond.  Through  this  forest, 
Mazika  tells  them,  they  will  have  to  cut  fully 
two-thirds  of  their  way,  and,  although  it  is  not 
more  than  twelve  miles  to  the  plain  on  the  other 
side  where  he  ho])es  to  make  their  next  camping- 
place,  it  will  take  them  all  day  with  their  best 
efforts  to  accomplish  the  passage. 

In  the  mean  time,  it  is  decided,  considering  the 
somewhat  unprotected  position  of  the  camp  and  the 
nearness  of  dangerous  wild  beasts,  to  erect  a  bar- 
ricade of  some  kind.      After  they  have  refreshed 


196  CHILDEEN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

themselves  by  a  hearty  meal  and  a  few  hours  of 
sleep,  they  all  set  cheerfully  to  work  upon  it, 
even  Ellie,  H()i)e,  old  Mamooliisane  and  the  chil- 
dren doing  what  they  can  to  help.  By  sundown 
they  have  formed  of  poles  and  of  scrubby  thorn- 
busiies  an  enclosure  about  fifty  or  sixty  feet  square, 
into  which,  at  nightfall,  the  cattle  are  all  driven, 
and  where,  the  wagon  having  already  been  placed, 
they  prepare  to  lie  down  to  sleep,  feeling  almost  as 
secure  as  soUliers  in  a  fort.  But  that  this  security  is 
not  so  real  as  it  seems  is  proved  by  a  thrilling  expe- 
rience that  takes  place  ere  the  night  is  passed. 

About  eleven  o'clock  Cunnyngham,  who  is  on 
guard,  begins  to  have  his  ears  greeted  by  all  sorts 
of  hideous  noises — hoarse  growls,  harsh  yells  and 
deep,  piercing  cries.  Nearly  all  of  these  proceed 
from  the  ueighborhood  of  the  pool  among  the 
rocks. 

"  It  seems  as  though  there  is  a  whole  menagerie 
of  wild  beasts  let  loose  to-night,"  Cunnyngham  com- 
ments to  himself,  not  without  many  cold  shivers  and 
various  other  unpleasant  little  sensations,  it  must  be 
confessed.  "  Well,  all  I  hope  is  they  will  not  any 
of  them  take  it  into  their  heads  to  treat  us  to  an 
attack." 

In  an  hour  or  so  the  noises  gradually  decrease, 
and  beyond  catching  a  glimpse  every  now  and  then 
of  a  blazing  pair  of  eyes  unpleasantly  near,  nothing 
else  occurs  just  at  that  time  to  disturb  the  youth's 
somewhat  trying  watch. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  197 

Suddenly,  just  as  he  is  cougratulatiug  himself 
upon  the  entire  cessation  of  all  the  hideous  noises 
that  have  made  such  unpleasant  music  for  his  ear, 
he  is  startled  by  a  low,  deep  growl  close  at  hand. 
The  next  moment  a  huge  body  comes  flying  through 
the  air  and  lands  full  among  the  sleeping  cattle.  In 
an  instant  they  start  up  completely  terrified  and 
uttering  piercing,  piteous  cries  or  deep  bellowings 
of  fright. 

By  this  time  the  whole  camp  is  aroused,  and  the 
girls,  with  old  Mamochisane,  are  on  the  point  of 
springing  from  the  wagon  when  Cunnyngham  calls 
loudly  to  them,  "  Stay  where  you  are  !  A  lion  !  a 
lion  !'' 

In  the  mean  time  the  lion  has  seized  one  of  the 
calves,  while  the  dogs,  now  thoroughly  aroused,  are 
leaping  about  in  every  direction  with  a  perfect 
charivari  of  piercing  barks  and  threatening  growls, 
though  thev  make  no  movement  to  attack  the  dread 
beast,  seeming  to  know  only  too  well  what  will  be 
their  fate  if  they  do  so.  Pierce,  Mazika,  Pitsane 
and  Jim  have  now  gathered  about  Cunnyngham, 
all  armed,  and  all  watching  with  fascinated  eyes 
the  great  yellow  brute  that,  having  despatched  the 
poor,  struggling  calf,  is  now  standing  over  the  body 
with  blazing  eyes  and  threatening  growls.  They 
are  afraid  to  fire  for  fear  of  wounding,  perhaps 
killing,  some  of  the  cattle,  many  of  which  are  now 
tearing  wildly  about  the  enclosure  as  though  they 
had   gone   mad,  as   they   doubtless   have   for   the 


198  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

moment,  poor  creatures!  Several  of  tlie  oxen 
have  already  escaped  by  literally  tearing  through 
the  weaker  portions  of  the  harricade. 

Directly,  as  Mazika  and  Pitsane  have  both  ad- 
vanced to  seek  aome  chance  to  deal  the  growling 
brute  a  deathblow,  the  one  with  his  spear  and  the 
other  with  his  axe,  the  lion  seizes  the  body  of  the 
calf  and  gives  a  sudden  spring  forward,  as  though 
to  get  off  with  his  prey.  In  an  instant  Pitsane 
makes  a  lunge  at  him  with  the  sharp  point  of  his 
spear.  It  pierces  the  animal  to  the  depth  of  several 
inches,  but  instead  of  inflicting  a  mortal  wound  only 
serves  to  arouse  the  beast  to  fury.  With  a  horrible 
growl  he  drops  the  calf  and  springs  toward  Pitsane. 
It  is  well  for  the  Hottentot  that,  like  so  many  of 
his  race,  he  is  endowed  with  a  wonderful  agility, 
else  would  this  beyond  a  doubt  prove  his  last  mo- 
ment on  earth.  Seeing  the  intention  of  the  brute, 
Pitsane,  with  a  quick  spring  to  one  side,  dodges 
him,  but  not  sufficiently  quick  to  avoid  the  stroke 
of  one  of  his  great  paws,  the  sharp  claws  of  which 
sink  to  some  depth  in  the  flesh  of  his  right  shoulder, 
most  painfully  lacerating  it.  The  lion  turns  for  the 
second  spring,  and  this  time  would  doubtless  put  an 
end  to  poor  Pitsane  but  for  the  powerful  and  well- 
directed  blow  of  Mazika's  great  axe,  which,  striking 
directly  between  the  eyes,  quite  crushes  the  brute's 
skull  and  stretches  him  in  death-agony  upon  the 
ground. 

It  is  a  young  lion,  but  full  grown  and  of  unusual 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  199 

size,  aud  all  feel  thankful  as  tliey  gather  about  it 
and  realize  what  might  possibly  have  happened  but 
for  the  well-directed  blow  of  Mazika's  axe.  They 
do  not  wonder  at  him  for  the  love  and  pride  he  be- 
stows upon  his  great  "  Balala,"  as  he  calls  it,  for  it 
surely  is  a  wonderful,  and  in  his  hands  a  most  deadly, 
weapon. 

It  is  now  almost  daylight,  and  as  nearly  all  of 
them  have  been  more  or  less  shaken  up  by  the 
attack  of  the  lion,  they  decide  not  to  return  to  bed. 
So  they  set  about  replenishing  the  fire,  and  in  a  little 
while  the  cooking  of  breakfast. 

While  this  is  going  on  Pierce  dresses  Pitsane's 
wounded  shoulder,  which,  though  very  painful,  is 
not  dangerously  hurt.  Mazika  in  the  mean  time 
has  skinned  the  lion,  and  is  now  busy  pegging  the 
skin  out  and  rubbing  salt  aud  grease  upon  it  pre- 
paratory to  hanging  it  in  the  sun  to  dry.  It  will 
make  a  fine  rug,  he  declares,  for  the  little  ladybird, 
as  he  calls  Louise. 

The  ease  with  which  the  lion  has  come  flying 
over  the  palisade  has  been  a  matter  of  much  specu- 
lation to  them,  but  the  next  morning  the  mystery  is 
fully  cleared  away.  Near  one  side  they  discover  a 
small  ledge  of  rock  which  in  the  building  of  the 
barricade  has  been  overlooked.  Crouched  upon 
this  ledge,  and  almost  on  a  level  with  the  top  of 
the  thorn  fortifications,  the  lion  has  found  it  no 
difficult  feat  to  spring  downward  into  the  midst 
of  the  little  camp. 


200  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

The  next  day  the  line  of  thorn  fenee  is  moved 
farther  away  from  the  roeks,  and  also  streni»;theued 
in  many  places.  The  cattle  that  have  made  their 
escape  during  the  stampede  of  the  previous  night 
are  recovered. 

The  morning  following  the  lion  adventure,  which 
is  Saturday,  EUie,  as  soon  as  breakfast  is  over,  gets 
out  her  sewing  and  repairs  to  the  shade  of  a  thick- 
foliaged  tree  just  without  the  enclosure.  There  is 
much  that  calls  for  the  attention  of  her  busy  and 
careful  fingers,  for  during  the  week  of  rough  trav- 
eling just  passed  many  rents  have  apj>eared,  not 
only  in  the  boys'  clothing,  but  also  in  her  own  and 
Hope's. 

While  Ellie  sews,  Hope,  who  is  sitting  near,  oc- 
cupies herself  in  jotting  down  in  a  small  blank- 
book  the  more  striking  events  of  their  week's  jour- 
ney. This  finished,  she  next,  with  Ellie's  help, 
makes  careful  estimate  of  their  resources. 

"  If  the  boys  can  kill  some  game  now  and  then," 
says  Ellie  at  length,  "  I  think,  Hope,  we  can  man- 
age capitally  until  we  get  to  the  Makololo.  Our 
flour  and  meal  will  last  even  longer  than  that,  with 
careful  husbanding." 

"But  suppose  something  should  haii])en,  Ellie? 
What  if  w^e  did  not  procure  the  right  kind  of  a 
guide  to  go  with  us  across  the  Kalahari,  and  so 
should  get  out  of  the  track,  and  be  many  more  days 
than  we  calculate  u})on  in  getting  to  the  Makololo, 
—what  then  ?" 


A  STOEY  OF  AFRICA.  201 

"TheD  we  must  trust  in  God,"  says  Ellie  firmly. 

Tliat  day  at  dinner  an  excitement  occurs.  As 
they  arc  gathering  about  the  cloth  under  the  trees 
upon  which  the  dinner  is  spread,  the  very  startling 
discovery  is  made  that  Marvin  is  missing.  Just  as 
Cunnyngham  and  Pierce  have  both  started  up  to 
go  in  search  of  him,  the  poodle,  Chitane,  makes 
his  appearance,  coming  hastily  from  without  the 
palisade.  As  he  catches  sight  of  Ellie  he  springs 
toward  her  and  takes  a  portion  of  her  dress  between 
his  teeth.  The  next  moment  he  begins  to  pull  her 
with  all  his  strength  toward  the  opening  in  the 
barricade. 

"  There  is  something  wrong  with  Marvin,"  she 
cries  suddenly  and  with  much  excitement.  "  Do 
you  not  see  the  dog,  how  he  is  trying  to  lead  me? 
— Gently,  Chitane  !  brave  fellow  !  I  am  coming. — 
Oh,  what  can  it  be  ? — There !  run  ahead  ;  we  are 
all  waiting  to  follow." 

At  this  the  dog,  as  though  he  understood  every 
word,  lets  go  her  dress  and  springs  through  the  open- 
ing in  the  thorn  fence.  The  next  moment  they  are  all, 
with  the  exception  of  Kamati  and  Jim,  who  have 
been  left  to  guard  the  dinner,  close  upon  his  track. 
Even  Mamochisane  is  there  with  the  little  Louise 
clasped  closely  in  her  arms. 

About  two  hundred  yards  to  the  right  of  the 
entrance  there  is  a  small  coppice  of  "  wacht-een- 
bigte,"  or  "  stop-a-while  thorn,"  as  the  Dutch  call 
it.     Toward  the  coppice  the  dog  now  makes  his 


202  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

way  as  fast  his  fat  little  legs  will  carry  him.  As 
they  draw  near  it  faint  cries  and  exclamations  reach 
them.  On  Ellie's  calling  "  Marvin  !  Marvin  !"  a 
much  louder  cry  is  borne  to  them,  but  the  words, 
if  there  are  any,  are  indistinguishable. 

"  He  is  there,"  she  cries,  her  excitement  deepen- 
ing. ''That  was  his  voice,  but,  oh,  what  can  be 
the  matter?" 

On  rounding  the  side  of  the  coppice  that  is  far- 
thest away  from  the  opening  in  the  palisades,  they 
come  suddenly  upon  poor  Marvin  caught  hard  and 
fast  by  the  fish-hook-like  prongs  of  the  *'  wacht-ccn- 
bigte ;"  that  is,  they  see  a  portion  of  him,  and  take 
it  for  granted  that  the  rest  is  there ;  which  it  is, 
though  in  a  considerably  "worsted"  condition,  as 
he  himself  afterward  expresses  it.  He  has  crawled 
in  on  hands  and  knees  for  a  short  distance,  and 
then  risen  erect,  or  tried  to  do  so,  in  order  to  pro- 
cure the  body  of  a  poor  little  bird  whose  life  has 
been  pierced  out  by  sudden  and  swift  contact  with 
the  sharp  thorns.  He  is  making  brave  efforts  to 
extricate  himself,  pulling  first  one  way  and  then 
another,  not  angrily  or  impatiently,  EUie  notices 
with  pleasure  even  at  that  moment,  but  slowly  and 
steadily.  It  is  all  useless,  however ;  the  more  he 
pulls,  the  more  hopelessly  entangled  he  becomes. 
He  might  as  well  seek  to  free  himself  from  the 
grasp  of  a  giant.  It  is  not  only  "  wait  a  while  " 
with  him,  poor  little  fellow !  but  it  has  evidently 
proved  wait  a  long  while,  to  judge  by  the  exhausted 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  203 

and  dilapidated  condition  in  which  he  now  ap- 
pears. 

"  Oh,  sister  !  oh,  brother !  oh,  cousin  !"  he  cries, 
appealing  pathetically  to  Ellie,  Pierce  and  Cun- 
nyngham  in  turn,  "can't  you  help  me  out  of  this? 
I  know  that  I  ought  to  have  stopped  to  think 
before  I  came  in  here,  but  that  doesn't  make  the 
thorns  hurt  any  the  less.  It's  just  like  a  lot  of  hor- 
rid old  fish-hooks,  only  worse:  the  harder  I  pull, 
the  tighter  I  get  fastened. — Do  something  for  me, 
Pierce,  can't  you  ? — Oh,  there  is  dear,  good  Ma- 
zika !"  his  face  clearing  instantly  as  he  catches 
sight  of  the  tall  form  of  the  Zulu.  "I  know," 
confidently,  "  that  he  will  get  me  out,  if  anybody 
can." 

"  Bring  axes,"  Mazika  says  to  Pitsane,  and  with 
these  two  brief  words  prepares  for  action. 

It  is  a  delicate  and  difficult  task,  ev^en  with  the 
aid  of  the  sharp  axes,  to  clear  a  way  into  the  dense 
thorn-jungle,  for  the  bushes  are  thickly  matted  to- 
gether and  the  spines  or  prickles  are  long  and  sharp, 
some  of  them  being  full  four  inches  in  length,  with 
points  as  piercing  as  a  steel  needle.  But  the  patient 
and  determined  Zulu  and  Hottentot  toil  on  unre- 
mittingly, although  their  hands  and  other  portions 
of  their  flesh  are  repeatedly  lacerated.  At  length 
they  have  come  so  close  to  the  imprisoned  boy  that 
working  with  the  axes  is  no  longer  safe.  Now 
comes  the  hardest  part  of  all,  as  hands  and  knives 
have  to  take  the  place  of  axes.    But  finally  Marvin 


204  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

is  borue  safely  to  his  sister's  side,  though  much 
the  worse  for  his  hour's  imprisonment  among  the 
"  wacht-een-bigte  "  thorns. 

"Oh,  Ellie,  I  thought  I  never  was  going  to  get 
out,"  lie  cries  as  he  throws  himself  down  across  her 
lap.  "Those  old  sharp  fellows  held  me  so  tight 
that  eveu  Mazika's  knife  had  a  hard  time  to  get 
them  to  let  me  go.  Wasn't  it  funny  about  Chitane, 
though  ?"  he  continues  after  a  moment's  pause,  and 
smiling  through  his  tears.  "  He  wouldn't  come 
anywhere  about  the  thorns,  though  I  did  my  best 
to  coax  him  to  go  in  with  me  when  I  went  after 
the  bird ;  but  he  wouldn't  budge  a  step.  He  just 
sat  off  there  on  his  little  old  squatty  legs  and  kept 
looking  at  me.  I  do  believe,  sister,  he  knew  just 
what  these  thorns  would  do." 

"I  dare  say  he  did.  Do  you  know,  my  little 
brother,  Avhat  you  have  just  admitted?" 

He  gazes  up  at  her  quickly,  much  mystified  at 
first ;  then  as  her  meaning  dawns  upon  him  blushes 
until  eveu  his  deepest  patch  of  freckles  is  hidden. 

"  That  Chitane  has  more  sense  than  I  have,"  he 
says  at  length,  dropping  his  eyes.  "  Oh,  sister,  I  am 
so  ashamed  of  it,  but  I  must  admit  that  it  is  so.  I 
went  into  the  thorn-bushes  without  stopping  to 
think,  while  Chitane,  who  is  only  a  dog,  wouldn't 
go  even  when  I  coaxed  him,  for  he  saw  well  enough 
it  wouldn't  be  for  his  good.  Oh,  Ellie,  I  promise 
you  I  M  ill  stop  to  thiuk  hereafter  before  I  go  any- 
where or  do  anything  about  which  there  is  the  least 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  205 

doubt.  I  just  wou't  be  outdone  by  a  dog,  now  see 
if  I  do." 

"  See  that  you  do  take  the  lesson  to  heart,  little 
brother,"  EUie  says  gravely,  "  though  it  has  been 
learned  from  a  dog.  In  the  great  world  to  which 
you  are  going,  if  God  spares  your  life  to  reach  it, 
there  are  many  things  even  worse  than  the  '  wacht- 
een-bigte '  thorns.  The  'stop-a- whiles'  tore  your 
clothes  and  pierced  your  flesh,  it  is  true,  and  held 
you  so  fast  that  it  took  both  Mazika  and  Pitsane  to 
free  you.  But  there  are  thorns  even  sharper  and 
more  determined  than  these — thoi'us  which,  when 
once  you  are  in  their  grasp,  hold  you  so  firmly  that  a 
giant's  strong  arm  can  scarcely  release  you.  There 
is  one  thorn  that  we  call  bad  habits  and  another  that 
we  call  bad  company.  Think  of  Chitane  and  the 
example  he  has  set  you,  dog  though  he  is,  and  when 
you  come  anywhere  near  these  thorns  turn  reso- 
lutely away  or  pass  determinedly  around  on  the 
other  side." 

It  is  quite  a  sober  and  thoughtful  face  that  Marvin 
carries  with  him  back  to  the  camp,  and  there  is  glad- 
ness in  Elbe's  heart  at  these  unmistakable  signs  of 
the  depth  to  which  the  lesson  has  sunk.  But  he  is  a 
most  distressing-looking  little  object  in  other  ways, 
and  it  takes  an  hour  or  two  of  her  most  careful  and 
patient  work  to  make  him  once  more  presentable. 
The  poodle  Chitane  comes  in  also  for  his  share  of 
attention,  but  in  a  different  way.  He  is  cuddled 
and   fondled  and   called  a  brave,  good   fellow  so 


20G  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

many  times  over  that,  but  for  the  fact  of  his  beiug 
one  of  the  soberest  and  most  sensible  of  dojrs,  he 
^vonld  surely  have  his  head  quite  turned. 

That  afternoon  Pierce,  who  is  quite  skillful  with 
the  gun,  kills  a  number  of  francolin,  or  wild  quail, 
which  prove  a  most  acceptable  addition  to  their 
evening  meal. 

That  same  afternoon  Cunnyngham  and  Mazika, 
who  are  also  on  the  hunt  for  game,  witness  a  most 
terrific  battle  between  a  giraffe  and  a  pack  of  hungry 
lions.  It  is  truly  a  terrible  sight,  and  causes  even 
Mazika  to  turn  his  face  away  for  a  time.  The  poor 
giraffe  is  almost  completely  devoured  ere  the  glut- 
tonous lions  make  off  at  last  with  low,  satisfied 
growls. 

When  Kamati  and  Jim  hear  of  it,  they  hasten  at 
once  to  the  spot  and  secure  the  bones,  which  being 
full  of  marrow  are  considered  a  great  dainty  by 
them.  Pierce  and  Mazika  at  length  succeed  in 
killing;  a  voung  and  fat  cow-eland,  which  furnishes 
abundant  fresh  meat  for  the  next  two  days. 

In  the  mean  time,  Mazika  has  made  for  Ellie  and 
Hope  a  goblet  each  from  the  horn  of  the  black  rhi- 
noceros Pierce  had  killed  at  their  third  camping- 
place.  These  goblets  are  most  ingeniously  con- 
trived, and  beautifully  finished  and  polished.  Both 
the  girls  prize  them  very  highly. 

"  I  have  heard,"  says  Pierce,  "  that  a  vessel  of 
this  kind  made  of  the  rhinoceros's  horn  has  the 
power  of  detecting  any  poison  that  may  be  in  the 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  207 

liquid  that  is  poured  into  it.  Is  this  true,  Ma- 
zika?" 

"  The  words  are  true.  If  that  which  is  the 
least  poisonous  be  put  into  the  cup  of  rhinoceros- 
horn,  then  will  the  liquid  bubble  up  till  it  bubbles 
over.  If  it  be  a  very  great  poison,  a  poison  that 
makes  death,  then  will  the  horn  split  so,"  throw- 
ing his  hands  widely  apart. 

That  night  the  roars  of  many  wild  beasts  and 
the  snorts  and  cries  of  others  disturb  their  sleep, 
while  those  who  are  on  watch  are  treated  to  many 
thrilling  and  magnificent  sights  of  the  various 
kings  of  the  jungle.  But,  thanks  to  a  merciful 
Providence,  none  of  them  show  any  disposition 
to  molest  the  little  camp,  and  morning  finds  every- 
thing in  safety. 

That  day  is  the  Sabbath,  and  never  have  they 
seen  a  more  beautiful  one.  A  shower  has  fallen 
during  the  night,  aud  when  the  sun  comes  up  it 
shines  upon  a  w'orld  of  diamonds.  They  are 
everywhere.  The  leaves  of  the  trees  are  glitter- 
ing with  them  and  the  tall  stems  of  grass  look  like 
blades  of  Damascus  steel  set  with  flashing  gems. 
The  air  is  delightfully  fresh  and  cool  and  laden 
with  the  perfume  of  many  sweet  growing  things. 
Even  the  cattle  seem  to  rejoice  as  they  lift  up  their 
voices  in  deep,  loud  bello wings.  The  horses,  too, 
neigh  gladly.  Of  all  the  dumb  brutes,  only  the 
one  poor  cow  who  has  lost  her  calf  by  the  raid  of 
the  lion  seems  sad  and  dejected,  giving  vent  every 


2U8  CUILBREX  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

now  and  then  to  low  moaus  and  jMteons  cries 
of  distress.  As  soon  as  morning  prayers  and 
the  breakfast  that  follows  are  over,  they  have 
Sunday-school,  and  Henrietta  resumes  once  more 
her  pleasing;  task  of  teaching  Jim  the  Catechism. 
Mamochisane  forms  the  second  member  of  this 
class ;  Hope  takes  Kamati  and  Pitsane ;  while 
!Mazika  is  left  solely  to  Ellie,  greatly  to  his  de- 
light. She  finds  him  both  a  docile  and  an  intel- 
ligent pupil,  yet  there  are  some  things  she  cannot 
make  him  see  clearly,  even  with  her  best  efforts, 
among  them  the  beautiful  plan  of  the  resurrection. 
Poor  Mazika !  he  has  so  long  dwelt  amid  the  dark- 
ness that  now  that  the  light  is  sent,  it  for  the  time 
almost  blinds  bis  eyes  with  its  radiance. 

"  Where  do  you  suppose  we  go  when  we  die, 
Mazika?"  Ellie  asks  him  as  he  has  taken  his  seat 
attentively  at  her  side. 

"  The  good  father  told  me,  missy,  that  the  spirit, 
that  is  the  talking  and  thinking  part  of  me,  goes 
to  the  heaven  where  the  great  man,  God,  dwells. 
The  other,  the  body,  the  house  in  which  the  spirit 
liv^es,  goes  into  the  ground.  Even  that  is  to  rise 
again.  But  Mazika  cannot  see  how  this  is  to  be 
true.  The  dead  die,"  he  continues  solemnly; 
"they  are  no  more;  they  become  as  nothing. 
They  are  as  the  beast  that  cannot  move  when  the 
hunter's  knife  has  laid  it  low.  If  the  body  once 
goes  to  the  dust,  how  can  it  be  found  again? 
When  Mazika  burns  a  log  of  wood,  there  is  only 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  209 

the  ashes;  he  cannot  find  the  log;  it  is  gone. 
There  is  not  even  the  shape  of  the  log.  When  the 
bird  is  killed  the  singing  part  goes ;  it  never  comes 
back  again.  The  bird  has  no  more  voice;  its  song 
is  finished.  Now,  when  the  talking  part  of  man 
gets  away,  how  can  it  be  brought  back  again?" 

"  God  is  a  great  God,  Mazika,"  the  young  girl 
answers  earnestly,  "and  his  works  are  even  more 
wonderful  than  we  know.  He  put  the  stars  and 
the  moon  and  the  sun  in  the  sky ;  he  makes  the 
lightnings  flash  and  the  thunders  roar;  he  sends 
the  rain  to  water  the  earth ;  he  causes  the  trees 
and  the  flowers  and  the  grass  upon  the  plains  to 
grow ;  but,  more  wonderful  than  all,  he  fashioned 
Mazika's  body  and  mine,  and  he  put  into  them 
breath,  which  is  life  itself.  Then  if  he  can  do 
all  this  from  nothing,  do  you  not  think  he  can 
put  the  life  back  again  when  once  he  has  taken  it 
away  ?  See !  here  is  an  egg.  If  I  break  it,  Ma- 
zika knows  that  only  a  watery  and  yellow  sub- 
stance will  come  forth.  But  suppose  I  put  it 
under  the  wings  of  a  fowl  ?  Then  Mazika  also 
knows  that  it  will  bring  forth  a  living  thing.  It 
is  God's  hand  that  has  done  it,  the  same  hand  that 
has  placed  in  our  nostrils  the  breath  that  is  life. 
Mazika  too  has  seen  the  seeds  planted  in  the  ground 
— tiny  seeds,  some  of  them  no  larger  than  the  point 
of  this  pin  I  hold — seed  so  light  that  a  breath  may 
blow  them  away.  But  in  a  little  while  up  shoots 
the  glad  green  blade,  and  how  soon  it  grows  into 

14 


210  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI. 

the  strong  brave  stalk  that  bears  the  food  for  Mazika 
and  for  nic !  The  Lord  Christ  Jcsns  himself  died  and 
his  body  was  placed  in  the  ground,  but  after  three 
days  he  arose  again  and  ascended  into  heaven.  So 
also  shall  our  bodies  arise  at  that  great  day,  brought 
forth  by  the  same  hand  that  brings  the  buried  seed 
as  a  fresh  green  shoot  from  its  bed  of  earth.  Let 
Mazika  trust  Christ,  and  he  will  one  day  know  just 
how  it  is  the  talking  part  may  be  brought  back  to 
the  body  again  when  once  it  has  been  carried  away, 
and  also  how  the  body  itself,  a  shapeless  mass  of 
dust,  may  be  given  its  living  semblance." 

After  Sunday-school  they  hold  church-services, 
when  Cunnyngham,  at  Elbe's  suggestion,  reads  the 
fifteenth  chapter  of  First  Corinthians  and  explains 
as  clearly  as  he  can  the  signification  of  Christ's  death 
and  resurrection.  Elbe  then,  in  her  own  sweet  and 
earnest  way,  relates  the  story  of  the  Saviour's  cru- 
cifixion and  burial  as  narrated  by  the  evangelists. 
Her  heart  is  cheered  to  note  the  absorbed  atten- 
tion with  which  the  dusky  portion  of  her  audience 
regards  her  from  the  beginning  until  the  close. 

The  greater  part  of  the  day  is  spent  in  an  entire 
cessation  from  work  of  every  kind.  Not  even  a 
fire  is  lighted  to  get  either  supper  or  dinner,  cold 
meals  being  eaten  instead.  It  is  truly  a  day  of 
rest.  At  the  evening's  service  the  departure  of 
the  Israelites  into  the  wilderness  is  read  by  Pierce, 
and  many  incidents  of  various  portions  of  their 
journey  narrated. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

"He  sendeth  the  springs  into  the  valleys." 

AT  least  an  hour  before  daylight  on  the  follow- 
-^^  ing  morning  the  little  camp  is  astir.  By  sunrise 
everything  is  in  readiness  for  the  start,  and  a  few 
moments  later,  just  as  the  great  orb  of  day  comes 
up  bright  and  glorious,  the  head  of  the  little  cara- 
van is  put  in  motion  and  the  journey  is  resumed. 

Now  comes  the  most  trying  time  of  any  since 
they  have  left  the  mission-station,  for  the  march  to- 
day is  through  the  dense  forest,  where  for  fully  two- 
thirds  of  the  way  the  road  has  to  be  cut  out  with 
knives  and  axes.  The  trees  are  uot  only  close  to- 
gether and  of  dense  foliage,  but  they  are  so  entwined 
with  numerous  tough  climbers  that  at  some  spots  it 
is  difficult  to  get  through  even  by  aid  of  the  axes. 
One  of  these  climbers  proves  especially  difficult  to 
deal  with. 

"  If  we  are  to  accept  Darwin's  theory  that  even 
the  vegetable  kingdom  gives  evidences  of  possessing 
instinct,"  says  Pierce,  "then  I  should  say  the  in- 
stinct of  this  toughened  old  customer  is  to  do  all 
the  mischief  he  can." 

This  proves  the  worst  climber  of  all,  as  well  as 

211 


212  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

the  densest  and  most  difficult  part  of  the  forest,  and 
they  are  fully  two  hours  cutting  their  way  through 
a  space  of  not  more  than  the  third  of  a  mile.  Other 
climbers  they  meet  with,  but  none  so  terrii)le  as  this 
which  they  nickname  "  The  Dragon's  (not  the 
dragoon's)  Sword." 

As  Pierce  is  tugging  with  all  his  might  at  one  of 
these  unmanageable  creepers  that  has  twisted  itself 
high  up  amid  the  boughs  of  a  tall  but  somewhat 
slender  tree,  a  funny  thing  happens.  Making  an 
extra  effort,  Pierce  gives  a  tremendous  pull,  when 
all  at  once  the  top  of  the  tree  snaps  off.  The  sud- 
den relaxation  of  the  tension  against  which  he  has 
been  pulling  sends  Pierce  flying  heels  over  head  into 
a  dense  mass  of  slu'ubbery.  At  the  same  moment  a 
small  black  body  shoots  downward  from  the  dis- 
mantled top  of  the  tree  and  falls  some  little  distance 
beyond  him  upon  an  uncovered  portion  of  ground. 

"  A  monkey  !  a  monkey  !"  cries  Marvin's  excited 
voice.     "  Oh,  brother,  do  look  at  the  monkey  !" 

And  a  monkey  indeed  it  proves  to  be,  a  young 
monkey  about  half  grown.  It  is  quite  stunned  by 
the  force  of  the  fall,  and  when,  after  a  few  moments, 
it  revives  and  attempts  to  make  off,  it  seems  unable 
to  do  so  through  some  injury  to  its  back. 

"  Oh,  do  let  us  keep  it,"  urges  Henrietta.  "  What 
a  grand  pet  it  will  make  !  I  never  did  have  a 
monkey  for  a  pet,  though  I've  always  wanted  one. 
Oh,  brother,  do  give  it  to  me  here  in  the  wagon." 

"  Let   her  have  it  "  Ellie  returns  in  answer  to 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  213 

Pierce's  look  of  inquiiy.     "  It  would  be  cruel  to 
leave  the  poor  thing  here  to  suffer." 

"But  do  you  think  it  will  ever  get  well?"  ques- 
tions Henrietta  with  the  tears  in  her  eyes,  for,  hav- 
ing a  very  tender  and  sympathetic  heart,  she  is 
already  much  attached  to  the  poor  little  suffering 
creature. 

'•'Oh,  I  hope  so.  I  can't  see  that  any  of  the 
bones  of  the  back  are  broken.  It  is  only  bruised, 
perhaps." 

Much  comforted,  Henrietta  proceeds  to  do  every- 
thing she  can  devise  for  the  relief  of  this  new  pet. 

As  they  toil  and  struggle  on  through  the  tangled 
labyrinths  of  the  forest,  they  are  more  than  once 
filled  with  the  apprehension  that  they  may  yet,  in 
spite  of  their  exertions,  be  forced  to  spend  the 
night  in  it.  The  thought  is  far  from  a  pleasant 
one.  Indeed,  it  is  most  harrowing,  for  well  they 
know  how  extremely  dangerous  at  night  are  the 
buffaloes,  elephants  and  other  large  animals,  fresh 
traces  of  which  they  see  all  around  them. 

The  sun  is  almost  down  when  the  edge  of  the 
dense  belt  of  wood  is  reached  and  they  come  out 
upon  an  open  plain  or  flat,  the  surface  of  which  is 
quite  sandy  and  heaped  here  and  therewith  piles  of 
fantastically-shaped  rocks.  For  a  short  distance 
beyond  the  forest  there  are  many  very  luxuriantly- 
growing  acacias,  with  now  and  then  a  lofty  can- 
delabra-shaped euphorbia  and  various  clumps  of  an 
evergreen   tree    resembling   the   cedar.     But   soon 


214  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

these  give  place  to  numerous  tamarisk  coppices  and 
low-growing  stretches  of  the  hardy  karroo-bush. 
There  are,  too,  numerous  isolated  aloes,  stunted 
and  dwarfish,  about  which  grow  dense  tangles  of 
thorns. 

The  sun  hod  now  declined  and  everywhere  is  a 
dense  gray  gloom.  It  throws  its  shadows  all  about 
them;  it  creeps  even  into  their  hearts,  filling  them 
with  an  oppressed  and  dreary  feeling.  In  compari- 
son with  the  dense  green  wood  through  which  they 
have  recently  come,  freshened  by  its  bits  of  moss 
and  peeping  wild  flowers,  it  is  like  exchanging  a 
scene  of  vigorous  childhood  for  the  inert  chill  of 
old  age.  The  only  living  thing  they  see  is  a  soli- 
tary vulture,  which,  startled  from  its  feast  upon  the 
decaying  carcass  of  a  jackal,  spreads  its  broad  gray 
wings  and  sweeps  over  them  with  a  rushing  sound. 

Despite  their  hard  work  and  the  stea  ly  vim  with 
which  they  have  pushed  their  way  onward,  they 
have  come  only  about  ten  miles  from  tlieir  last 
camping-place,  Mazika  tells  them,  and  must  go  at 
least  two  miles  farther  before  they  will  reach  a 
place  at  which  it  will  be  safe  to  camp  without  hav- 
ing first  erected  a  barricade.  As  they  are  nearly 
exhausted  with  their  day's  experience  in  the  woods, 
this  last  is  not  to  be  thought  of. 

The  camping-place  is  at  length  reached,  a  kind 
of  hollow  shut  in  by  precipitous  masses  of  rock. 
There  is,  however,  an  opening  at  one  side  through 
which  the  wagon  and  cattle  mav  be  driven.     It  is 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  215 

an  excelleut  place  iu  which  to  pass  the  night  secure 
from  the  attacks  of  wild  beasts,  but  it  has  one  serious 
drawback :  there  is  no  water.  Against  this,  how- 
ever, Mazika  has  guarded  by  having  had  the  casks 
filled  at  their  last  stopi)ing-place.  There  is  still  a 
sufficient  supply  left,  although  they  have  had  to 
draw  very  freely  upon  it  while  coming  through 
the  woods. 

From  this  point  Pitsane,  who  knows  more  of  the 
country  now  tiian  Mazika,  takes  the  lead. 

By  daylight  they  are  off,  and  ere  the  sun  has 
risen  have  made  two  miles  across  the  plain. 

The  "flat"  now  proves  to  be  several  succes- 
sions of  valleys,  separated  from  each  other  by 
ridges  of  sand  iu  some  places,  and  by  sharp  up- 
heavals of  rocks  iu  others.  There  is,  of  course, 
little  vegetation,  and  such  as  there  is  is  quite  un- 
attractive. Occasionally,  while  passing  along  the 
more  sterile  parts  of  these  desert-like  tracks,  they 
come  upon  precipitous  upheavals  of  black  basaltic 
rocks. 

These  hills  crossed,  they  enter  upon  a  country 
that  consists  mainly  of  large  patches  of  trap-cov- 
ered tufa,  having  little  soil  or  vegetation  except 
tufts  of  grass  and  wait-a-bit  thorns  iu  the  midst 
of  extensive  sandy  stretches. 

The  heat  is  now  intense,  and  the  hot  glare  of 
the  sun  upon  the  white  sand  makes  their  heads 
ache  intolerably.  Cunnyngham  and  Pierce  are 
finally  driven   to  seek  the  shelter  of  the  covered 


216  CHILlJJiEN   UF  THE  K ALA II A II I: 

wagon,  where  the  two  girls,  Ellie  and  Hope,  and 
the  children  lie  ahiiost  gaspiui>;  for  breath.  Mu- 
zika,  Pitsane,  Kaniati,  Jim  and  Maniochisane  stand 
it  mnch  better,  but  the  poor  cattle  and  the  hoi-ses  and 
donkeys  are  suflbring  greatly.  It  is  therefore  with 
a  feeling  of  deep  relief  that  about  eleven  o'clock 
they  reach  a  small  grove  of  low-growing  tama- 
risk trees.  By  this  time  they  are  not  only  suffer- 
ing intensely  from  the  heat,  but  also  from  thirst, 
the  supply  of  water  having  given  out  some  distance 
back.  The  cattle  too  are  bellowing  piteously.  As 
the  travelers  can  see  no  sign  of  water  in  any  direc- 
tion, their  spirits  begin  to  sink,  until  a  word  or  two 
from  Pitsane  reassures  them.  There  is  water  near, 
he  says  confidently. 

In  a  little  while  he  has  discovered  two  or  t^ree 
sand-wells,  which  have  apparently  been  dug  by 
some  wandering  tribe.  These  wells  exhibit  much 
perseverance  and  skill  in  their  construction,  being 
from  ten  to  twenty  feet  deep  and  from  twelve  to 
fifteen  in  diameter.  As  they  are  partially  filled 
with  sand,  and  no  water  is  anywhere  visible,  Ellie 
and  Hope  are  not  the  only  ones  who  wonder  whence 
the  precious  fluid  is  to  come.  In  a  little  while  Pit- 
sane, who  has  darted  off  to  a  clump  of  tall-grow- 
ing reeds,  returns  with  several  of  them  about  a 
half  inch  in  diameter  and  from  fifteen  to  twenty 
feet  long.  These  he  carefully  presses  down  into 
the  sand  at  the  bottom  of  one  of  the  wells,  and 
with  a  confident  air  bids  Ellie,  Hope  and  the  others 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  217 

drink.  They  at  once  obey,  and  find  that  they  can 
get  quite  a  refreshing  draught  of  the  fluid  by  draw- 
ing it  up  through  the  reed  by  mouthfuls.  But  there 
are  still  the  poor  dumb  brutes,  who  cannot  quench 
tlieir  thirst  in  this  way.  Taking  a  spade,  Pitsane 
descends  to  the  bottom  of  one  of  the  wells  by  means 
of  a  rope,  the  other  end  of  which  is  tied  about  a 
tree  and  the  length  gradually  let  off  by  Jim  and 
Kamati.  When  Pitsane  has  reached  the  bottom 
the  rope  is  unfastened  from  about  his  body,  when 
he  gives  the  signal  for  it  to  be  drawn  up  again. 
This  is  soon  done,  when  a  bucket  is  attached  to  it 
and  let  down  into  the  well.  Pitsane  now  begins  to 
dig  into  the  sand  at  the  bottom  of  the  well  and  to 
send  it  up  when  dug  by  means  of  the  bucket.  In 
a  little  while,  to  the  great  joy  of  the  thirst-tortured 
cattle,  the  water  begins  to  come  instead  of  the  sand 
and  gravel.  It  takes  two  hours  of  hard  work  to 
reach  the  precious  fluid  and  to  get  the  horses  and 
cattle  all  watered  ;  but  through  the  entii-e  time  Pit- 
sane, Kamati  and  Jim  hold  out  bravely. 

As  the  sun  gets  higher  and  hotter  they  are  thank- 
ful for  the  shelter  of  even  these  small  shrub-like  trees, 
among  which  they  now  remain.  A  most  amusing 
incident,  though  in  some  respects  quite  a  thrilling 
one,  occurs  as  they  are  encamped  at  this  place. 

On  leaving  Lepelole  there  has  been  one  thing  to 
which  Kaffir  Jim  has  clung  most  persistently  in 
spite  of  every  difficulty.  This  is  the  long  tin  horn 
with  which  he  has  been  wont  to  summon  the  Lepe- 


218  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

lole  population  to  tluMr  meals  and  to  ])ravers.  He 
has  come  upon  it  lliat  niirlit  wlK-n  tlun'  have  visited 
the  kotla  in  search  of  Mr.  Liliington,  and  amid  all 
the  terrors  and  distress  of  that  time  he  has  safely 
kept  his  preeious  horn.  At  times  it  has  served  as 
a  gentle  goad  to  the  lagging  energies  of  the  cattle; 
again  its  shrill  notes  have  summoned  them  when 
astray.  Even  when  he  lies  down  to  sleep  the  pre- 
cious horn  is  clasped  closely  in  Jim's  hands. 

On  this  occasion  he  has  thrown  himself  down 
upon  a  skin  rug,  which  he  has  fastened  about  him 
as  a  protection  against  the  unpleasant  maraudings 
of  various  ants,  flies  and  other  troublesome  insects. 
Head,  body  and  limbs  are  all  enclosed  in  the  rug, 
only  an  opening  large  enough  to  breathe  through 
being  left,  while  under  his  arm  is  securely  tucked 
the  tin  horn. 

Suddenly,  just  as  the  little  camp  is  in  the  midst 
of  its  deepest  sleep,  it  is  violently  aroused  by  a 
series  of  piercing  yells  that  seem  to  come  from  some 
little  distance  outside.  Their  horror  is  great  when 
they  behold  a  huge  lion  trotting  off  as  fast  as  he 
can  with  the  skin  rug  between  his  teeth,  and  poor 
Jim  securely  wrapped  in  its  folds. 

There  is  a  simultaueous  spring  for  the  guns  on 
the  part  of  Cunnynghara,  Pierce  and  Pitsane,  while 
Mazika  grasps  his  great  axe.  But  suddenly,  even 
as  they  have  sprung  forward  in  pursuit,  a  long, 
loud,  ear-splitting  blast  wakes  all  the  silent  echoes. 
It  must  prove  deafening  indeed  to  the   lion,  since 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  219 

the  terrible  instrument  from  which  it  comes  is 
thrust  right  up  against  his  liead.  Instantly  drop- 
ping his  burden,  the  lion  gallops  off,  roaring  with 
fright.  Quite  unhurt,  Jim  wriggles  from  the  rug 
and  makes  his  way  back  to  the  camp  as  fast  as  his 
long,  slim  black  legs  can  carry  him. 

They  remain  at  this  place  until  seven  o'clock  in 
the  evening,  when,  to  avoid  the  heat,  they  have  de- 
cided to  journey  to  their  next  stopping-place  during 
the  night.  This  is  to  be  in  the  neighborhood  of  a 
series  of  fountains,  near  the  first  of  which,  Pitsane 
tells  them,  there  is  a  small  tribe  of  Bamaugwato 
who  have  fled  hither  from  their  former  village  near 
the  boundary-line  of  the  Matabele  territory  in  order 
to  escape  the  raids  of  the  fierce  and  cruel  Mosili- 
katse. 

Accordingly,  at  seven  o'clock  they  are  off,  and  at 
sunrise  the  next  morning  have  reached  in  safety 
the  fountain  known  as  the  "  Fountain  of  the  Rising 
Sun  "  because  of  its  standing  upon  a  prominence 
where  it  catches  and  reflects  in  a  thousand  different 
lights  and  with  all  the  prismatic  hues  of  the  rain- 
bow the  rays  of  the  sun  as  it  comes  peeping  up 
over  the  eastern  hills. 

A  little  farther  on  they  come  upon  the  village 
of  the  Bamaugwato.  They  find  both  the  chief, 
Nakomi,  and  his  people  exceedingly  friendly,  espe- 
cially when  they  find  that  they  have  come  from 
Lepelole,  It  is  only  a  little  while  after  they  have 
made  their  camp  that  the  chief  and  several  of  the 


220  CHILDREN   OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

head-men  and  women  of  his  tribe  pay  them  a  visit, 
bringinjr  with  tliein,  by  way  of  a  friendly  olTering, 
a  sweet  kind  of  gnni  very  jjlea^^ant  to  the  taste, 
some  curds  of  goat's  milk,  a  few  ostrich  eggs  and  a 
brace  of  fine  wild  guinea-fowls.  In  return  the  Ba- 
mangwato  are  presented  with  some  beads,  some 
copper  rings,  two  or  three  yards  of  cloth,  together 
with  a  pocket-knife  and  a  large  red  handkerchief 
for  the  chief. 

Ijate  in  the  afternoon,  after  our  travelers  have 
enjoyed  a  very  refresliiug  sleep  of  several  hours, 
the  chief  and  the  people  return  and  give  them  a 
very  pressing  invitation  to  spend  the  night  in  the 
village.  This  they  soon  decide  to  do,  especially  as 
they  are  quite  anxious  to  learn  all  they  can  of  the 
country  beyond. 

These  Bamangwatos,  they  soon  discover,  have 
large  flocks  of  sheep  and  goats,  which  they  keep 
at  various  spots  along  a  desert-like  expanse  some 
little  distance  beyond  the  fertile  stretch  about  the 
fountain. 

AVhile  here,  the  Caucasian  portion  of  the  little 
caravan  is  inducted  for  the  first  time  into  the  mys- 
teries of  making  ostrich-egg  omelet.  The  manner 
of  making  the  omelet  is  this:  At  one  end  of  the 
egg  a  small  opening  is  made  and  into  it  is  put  a 
seasoning  of  salt  and  pepper.  The  Q^g  is  then  well 
shaken,  so  as  thoroughly  to  mix  the  white,  the  yolk 
and  the  ingredients.  After  this  a  hole  is  dug  in  hot 
ashes,  where  it  is  placed  until  completely  cooked. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  221 

When  ready  it  is  a  very  palatable  dish  for  three  or 
four  persons,  since  one  of  the  eggs  of  this  great  bird 
contains  as  much  as  two  dozen  of  those  of  the  com- 
mon fowl. 

They  find  Nakorai's  people  well  versed  in  many 
of  the  native  industrial  arts.  The  women  prove  to 
be  great  mat-makers.  These  mats  are  woven  of 
various  flags,  reeds,  and  even  of  a  species  of  bul- 
rush that  grows  quite  luxuriantly  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  fountain.  Earthen  pots  and  other  vessels 
are  also  manufactured  by  the  Bamangwato.  These 
are  made  solely  of  the  mould  obtained  from  various 
ant-hills.  In  addition  to  the  earthen  vessels  they 
manufacture  various  vessels  of  wood,  some  of  them 
most  ingeniously  shaped. 

Ellie  and  Hope  have  two  plates,  two  bowls  and 
a  pot  and  a  jar  of  earthenware  presented  to  them 
by  the  kindly  Bamangwato,  and  they  find  them 
afterward  most  useful. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

"  M7  God  shall  supply  all  your  need." 

AT  sunrise  the  next  morning,  having  bidden 
-^^  adieu  to  the  cln'ef  Nakonii  and  his  people,  the 
little  caravan  is  again  on  its  way.  Their  route  leads 
them  now  over  a  succession  of  sandy,  yet  in  many 
places  quite  fertile,  plains,  richly  covered  with  tall 
grasses  and  fine  brushwood.  Near  the  middle  of 
the  afternoon,  when  eyes  and  head  are  aching 
with  the  intolerable  glare  of  the  sun,  they  come 
in  sight  of  a  long  blue  line  stretching  off  toward 
the  horizon. 

"  A  lake  !  a  lake  !"  cries  Pierce  delightedly,  while 
Marvin  and  Henrietta  clap  their  hands  in  joyful  an- 
ticipation. 

Pitsane,  however,  only  shakes  his  head  in  any- 
thing but  an  encouraging  way. 

A  mile  farther,  and  their  beautiful  lake  turns 
out  to  be  nothing  but  a  large  hollow,  in  the  rainy 
season  doubtless  filled  with  water,  but  now  quite 
dry  and  covered  with  innumerable  saline  incrusta- 
tions. These,  catching  the  liuht  i'rom  the  sun, 
have  reflected  it  again  in  the  deep  blue  line  the 
222 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  223 

young  people  have  seen  and  mistaken  for  a  pretty- 
sheet  of  water. 

That  night  they  encamp  near  tlie  borders  of  the 
largest  of  all  the  series  of  wonderful  fountains  by 
which  this  section  of  country  is  marked.  It  is 
called  "  Elephant  Fountain,"  probably  more  on 
account  of  its  size  than  from  any  association  with 
that  animal,  since  very  few  elephants  are  found  in 
the  neighborhood. 

Near  this  fountain  they  find  a  tribe  of  Bechuanas 
who  have  been  living  here  for  a  number  of  years, 
having  been  driven  from  their  former  village  north- 
west of  the  Transvaal  by  the  persecutions  of  the 
Boers.  They  are  a  very  intelligent  people  for 
savages,  strong  and  fine-looking,  and  partially 
civilized  in  many  of  their  ways.  Their  mode  of 
dress,  too,  is  much  above  that  of  the  ordinary 
savage,  though  many  of  the  women  still  cling  to 
the  old  custom  of  wearing  copper  rings  about  their 
wrists  and  ankles. 

Their  chief,  Mokatchani,  is  a  well-informed  sav- 
age of  perhaps  sixty  years  of  age.  When  a  young 
man  he  had  been  attached  to  the  mission-station  of 
Kuruman,  and  had  there  heard  both  Moffat  and 
Livingstone  preach.  For  the  latter  he  has  a  special 
veneration,  while  among  his  proudest  possessions 
is  a  small  Bible  in  the  Sichuana  language  which 
Livingstone  himself  has  presented  to  him.  Upon 
the  fly-leaf  is  written  in  the  great  missionary's  own 
hand : 


224  CJULDRES  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

MOKATCHAKI, 

Sehoini's  tribe  of  the  Bakwains, 
Becliuaiia-land,  Dec,  18 — , 
From   his  friend 
D.  Livingstone. 

"All  the  ends  of  the  earth  sJuill  see  the  salva- 
tion of  our  God." 

The  chief  speaks  the  pure  Sichuana  language ; 
therefore  it  is  no  difficult  matter  for  them  to  con- 
verse with  him.  It  is  a  very  soft  and  easy-flowing 
language,  and  when  w^ell  spoken  is  quite  melodious. 

They  are  greatly  entertained  by  Mokatchani's 
talk.  There  is  about  him,  too,  a  fund  of  dry 
humor  that  is  irresistible.  His  theory  of  the  order 
of  creation  is  both  amusing  and  striking.  Says 
Mokatchani : 

"  Since  we  believe  that  one  Being  created  all  men, 
then  we  must  also  believe  that  he  improved  upon  his 
work  as  he  went  along.  First  he  tried  his  hand  ou 
the  Bushmen,  but  he  didn't  like  them,  because  they 
were  so  ugly  and  their  language  was  like  that  of 
the  frogs.  Then  he  tried  the  Hottentots,  but  their 
mouths  were  so  great  they  couldn't  talk  without 
qua-quaing  like  the  night-heron  ;  so  they  didn't 
please  him  either.  He  then  exercised  all  his  power 
and  skill  and  made  the  Bechuanas,  wiiich  was  a  great 
improvement ;  and  at  last  he  made  the  white  people, 
which  were  best  of  all ;  and,"  concludes  the  flat- 
tering old  chief,  looking  very  meaningly  at  the  Cau- 


Pitsane  and  the  Buftalo. 


Page  225. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  225 

casian  portion  of  his  audience,  "then  he  was  so  very 
well  pleased  indeed  that  he  has  never  made  anything 
since." 

A  pressing  invitation  is  given  by  the  chief  and 
his  people  that  they  remain  with  them  a  day  or 
two.  This  they  finally  decide  to  do,  especially  as 
the  meat  department  of  their  commissariat  has  run 
rather  low,  and  the  chief  tells  them  that  this  is  a 
capital  part  of  the  country  for  game.  So  they 
arrange  to  remain  until  Monday  morning. 

It  is  now  Friday.  That  same  afternoon  Pitsane 
quite  distinguishes  himself  by  killing  unaided  a 
fine  large  buifalo.  They  have  been  both  amused 
and  interested  when  he  has  prepared  himself  for 
the  hunt,  for,  finding  the  old  ties  and  inclinations 
far  too  strong  for  him  to  resist,  Pitsane  has  arrayed 
himself  in  the  full  Hottentot  fashion,  even  to  the 
bow  and  arrow  and  the  spear.  It  is  only  at  the 
last  moment  that  Pierce  can  induce  him  to  carry  a 
rifle,  suggesting  that  it  will  surely  prove  a  far  safer 
weapon  in  the  midst  of  danger  than  either  his  bow 
or  spear. 

When  the  remainder  of  the  little  hunting-party, 
which  has  been  separated  for  a  time  from  Pitsane, 
comes  upon  him  rather  suddenly,  they  find  him  sit- 
ting upon  the  haunches  of  a  freshly-slain  buifalo 
and  chanting  to  himself  one  of  the  battle-songs  of 
his  peoj^le. 

Our  young  travelers  find  much  to  increase  their 
wonder  and  interest  in  the  great  "  Elephant  Foun- 

15 


226  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

tain."  Among  other  tilings  there  is  a  large  cavern, 
the  entrance  to  which  they  can  plainly  see  above  the 
line  of  water. 

The  more  Pierce  gazes  upon  the  entrance  to  the 
mysterious  cavern,  the  more  it  excites  his  interest 
and  curiosity,  until  finally  he  is  quite  overcome 
with  the  desire  to  explore  it.  He  is  a  most  expert 
swimmer  and  diver,  and  he  feels  assured  that  the 
only  difficulty  will  be  in  getting  up  from  the  water. 
But  this,  he  decides,  can  be  overcome  by  help  of 
Pitsane,  Jim  and  a  suj)ply  of  ropes.  He  decides 
that  he  M'ill  say  nothing  to  Cunnyngham,  for  fear  he 
will  try  to  dissuade  him  from  the  attempt,  Cunnyng- 
ham being  of  a  more  cautious  nature  than  Pierce. 

That  afternoon,  which  is  Saturday,  while  the 
others,  well  sheltered  from  the  sun  by  the  trees 
of  the  village,  are  having  a  most  enjoyable  nap, 
Pierce  steals  away  accompanied  by  the  faithful 
Pitsane  and  Jim,  who  carry  as  many  pieces  of 
stout  rope  as  they  have  been  able  to  get  together. 
Reaching  the  side  of  the  fountain,  he  at  once 
divests  himself  of  his  clothing  and  fastens  the 
rope  about  his  body.  Creeping  as  near  to  the 
edge  of  the  water  as  he  can,  he  plunges  boldly 
in.  It  is  very  cold — so  cold,  in  fact,  that  for  a  few 
moments  his  teeth  chatter.  But  in  a  little  while 
he  grows  used  to  it,  and  with  vigorous  strokes  sets 
out  for  the  entrance  of  the  cavern.  It  is  a  great 
deal  wider  thau  it  appears  to  be  from  the  cliffs,  and 
he  has  no  trouble  in  entering  it. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  227 

He  is  niucli  struck  by  the  beautiful  transparency 
of  the  water  all  about  the  cavern's  mouth.  How- 
ever, on  closer  iusj)ection  he  does  not  pronounce  it 
a  cavern,  but  a  tunnel — a  tunnel  that  has  every 
appearance  of  having  been  cut  by  the  hand  of 
man.  He  is  sorry  when  his  length  of  rope  comes 
to  an  end  and  he  can  go  no  farther.  He  is  almost 
tempted  to  undo  the  knot  about  his  armpits,  fasten 
the  rope  to  a  projecting  ledge  and  go  on  without  it. 
But  good  sense  and  cool  judgment  finally  prevail, 
and,  scrambling  out  of  the  water  upon  an  over- 
hanging shelf,  he  prepares  to  rest  for  a  few  mo- 
ments ere  setting  forth  on  his  return.  He  is  now 
several  feet  into  the  passage.  Only  a  dim  gray 
light  like  that  of  twilight  prevails,  yet  he  can  see 
some  feet  farther  on.  But  beyond  this  all  is  an 
impenetrable  blackness.  He  is  much  struck  by 
the  sparkling  appearance  of  the  water  beneath 
him.  It  seems  to  reflect  the  light  of  a  thousand 
scintillating  substances.  The  roof  is  also  covered 
with  another  formation — a  very  curious  formation, 
in  truth,  and  one  that  attracts  his  curiosity  to  such 
an  extent  that  he  begins  to  climb  up  nearer  to  it 
by  means  of  various  projecting  ledges,  so  as  to  sat- 
isfy himself  as  to  what  it  is.  Wlien  within  reach- 
ing distance  he  discovers  that  the  dark,  pendent, 
ball-like  formations  dotted  here  and  there  over  the 
surface  of  the  roof  are  made  by  the  bodies  of  in- 
numerable bats  and  owls.  To  his  astonishment, 
they   are   all    dead,    all    firmly    fastened    to    their 


228  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

clinging  places,  and  all  as  well  preserved  as 
mummies. 

He  is  on  the  point  of  descending  again  to  the 
water  when  two  great  eyes  of  light  very  near 
together  attract  his  attention.  He  wonders  what 
they  can  be.  Surely  not  the  eyes  of  some  beast, 
since  it  would  be  next  to  impossible  for  one  to  be 
here.  Creeping  nearer,  he  finds  two  brilliant  peb- 
ble-like stones  firmly  imbedded  in  the  earth — so 
firmly,  in  fact,  that  they  for  a  long  time  resist  his 
efforts  to  dislodge  them. 

"  Suppose  they  should  be  diamonds !"  he  cries 
with  a  beating  heart  as  he  finally  holds  them  in  his 
hand.  Then  after  a  moment's  pause,  "Oh,  pshaw! 
it  couldn't  be  true  :  it  would  be  too  much  like  the 
Arabian  Nights.  However,  this  may  be  the  work- 
ings of  some  ancient  diamond-mine,  abandoned  on 
account  of  the  workmen  coming  suddenly  upon  a 
spring  of  water  that  overflowed  everything," 

Placing  the  shining  stones  in  his  mouth,  he  en- 
ters the  water  again  and  swims  back  to  the  point 
at  which  he  left  Pitsane  and  Jim.  Here,  clinging 
to  the  rope  with  both  hands  so  as  to  prevent  it  from 
cutting  his  body,  he  is  safely  hauled  up  to  the  rocks 
above. 

Ellie  and  Cunnynghani  have  quite  a  scolding  for 
him  when  they  learn  of  his  adventure,  but  are  filled 
with  wonder  at  his  description  of  the  mysterious  pas- 
sage, as  well  as  at  the  sight  of  the  sparkling  stones. 
They  agree  with  him   in   his  supposition   that  the 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  229 

fountain  is  but  the  water-filled  shaft  of  an  aban- 
doned diamond-mine. 

"  They  are  assuredly  diamonds  !"  Cuunyngham 
exclaims  in  some  excitement  in  reference  to  the 
stones,  "and  doubtless  of  much  value.  If  they  are, 
it  is  truly  a  most  fortunate  find,  for  I  have  often 
wondered  how,  in  case  we  rea(;hed  the  coast  in  safe- 
ty, where  we  were  to  procure  the  means  of  defray- 
ing the  expenses  of  our  passage  to  America.  My 
uncle  gave  me  all  the  money  he  had,  but  it  is  noth- 
ing like  enough.  He  said  when  he  gave  it  to  me 
that  God  would  surely  provide  the  remainder." 

Miss  Henrietta  especially  is  nearly  wild  with  de- 
light at  sight  of  the  flashing  stones.  Scarce  know- 
ing their  real  value,  she  teases  Pierce  to  let  her 
have  one  of  them  for  the  centre-piece  of  a  wonder- 
ful collar  she  has  recently  fashioned  out  of  red 
cloth  and  black  beads  for  her  pet  the  monkey.  But 
Pierce  assures  her  that  his  treasures  are  far  too 
valuable  to  be  entrusted  to  the  keeping  of  a  mis- 
chievous little  ape,  who  would  as  soon  swallow 
them  as  not. 

The  little  creature  has  now  almost  entirely  re- 
covered from  its  hurts,  and  is  able  to  walk,  though 
apparently  still  with  some  pain.  Despite  Pierce's  im- 
plied predictions,  it  proves  in  many  respects  quite 
docile,  and  has  already  learned  to  follow  Henrietta 
about  like  a  dog.  However,  at  times  it  displays 
towanl  tiie  others  a  very  naughty  disposition,  which 
Pierce  emphatically  declares  ought  to  be  switched 


230  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

out  of  it.  But  so  long  as  her  pet  is  sick  and  suffer- 
ing the  little  lady  will  liear  to  no  such  loirihle 
means  of  correct  ion. 

Henrietta  has  named  her  j)et  Murray,  in  honor 
of  the  kindly  and  genial  captain  they  all  reineml)cr 
so  gratefully.  Tiic  full  name  is  "  Captain  John 
Murray  Lillington,"  but  on  Ellie's  suggesting,  with 
visible  amusement,  that  the  real  Captain  Murray 
miy;ht  not  relish  the  idea  of  haviny:  iiis  name  so 
closely  associated  with  so  ugly  and  so  unpromising 
a  pet,  Henrietta  compromises  the  matter  by  calling 
him  ''Captain  John,"  then  "Captain  Jock,"  finally 
decapitating  it  permanently  into  "Jock." 

The  chief,  Mokatchani,  and  Marvin  in  a  little 
while  grow  to  be  the  fastest  of  friends.  To  the 
great  delight  of  the  usually  grave  and  dignified 
savage,  the  lad  brings  forth  his  wonderful  spinning- 
top  and  rubber  ball.  It  is  interesting  to  watch  the 
expression  of  the  chief's  face  as  the  top,  seemingly 
instinct  with  life,  flies  from  the  boy's  hand  and  de- 
scribes its  graceful  circles  upon  the  ground,  and  it  is 
indeed  most  amusing  to  note  the  comic  changes  the 
same  face  undergoes  as,  flat  upon  the  ground,  Mo- 
katchani lies  with  his  ear  bent  down  to  listen  to 
what  it  says  before  it  quite  goes  to  sleej). 

"Him  talk,  him  say  many  heap  o'  t'ings,"  he 
declares  in  his  broken  English,  "  but  him  all  one 
long,  sing-song,  hum-hum  word.  Him  say, 'Zoo- 
o-o-o-o-zoo,  how  you  do-o-o-oo-doo  ?'  an'  me  say, 
'Velly  well,  me  t'aidv  you;  de  samoy  to  you.'" 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  231 

The  ball  too  comes  iu  for  its  share  of*  interest. 
"  Hira  hab  one  little  birdie  inside  o'  him  to  make 
him  fly  so  straight  up  to'rd  de  sky,"  declares  the 
chief  oracularly. 

On  parting  with  his  young  friend,  Mokatchani, 
greatly  to  Marvin's  delight,  presents  him  with  a 
parakeet,  a  wide-awake,  saucy  fellow  a  friend  of 
the  chief  has  brought  all  the  way  from  the  forests 
about  the  Zouga.  It  has  already  learned  to  talk, 
and  can  repeat  many  words  and  sentences  both  in 
Sichuana  and  in  broken  English. 

Not  to  be  outdone  by  Miss  Henrietta  in  the  way 
of  a  select  choice  of  a  name  for  his  pet,  Marvin 
has  called  it  "  Colonel,"  finally  diminishing  it  to 
"  Colo." 

On  Sunday,  Cuunyngham,  at  the  chief's  request, 
holds  religious  services  among  the  people.  Youth 
though  he  is,  he  is  very  earnest  and  impressive. 
Ellie's  sweet  singing,  too,  seems  to  make  a  most 
pleasing  impression  upon    the  dusky  hearers. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

"  They  that  dwell  in  the  wilderness  shall  bow  before  Him." 

THEY  are  oif  the  following  Monday  morning  at 
daylight,  followed  by  the  best  wishes  of  the 
chief  and  his  people,  as  well  as  by  many  regrets, 
for  even  in  this  short  time  they  have  snceeeded  by 
their  cordial,  fearless  manners  in  completely  win- 
ning more  than  one  heart  among  the  tribe. 

After  leaving  the  Bechuana  camp  some  half  dozen 
miles  behind,  their  way  for  the  most  part  lies  across 
dry  and  sandy  plains,  destitute  of  even  a  suggestion 
of  water  and  having  very  little  vegetation. 

It  is  well  for  our  travelers  that  they  take  old 
Mokatchani's  advice  and  carry  a  full  day  and 
night's  supply  of  water,  otherwise  they  would  suf- 
fer greatly  from  thirst.  As  it  is,  they  suffer  enough 
from  the  heat  of  the  sun,  and  the  poor  tortured 
animals,  on  being  stopped  near  noon  for  two  or 
three  hours'  rest,  seek  even  the  scanty  shade  of 
some  low-growing  karroo-bushes  with  neighs  and 
bellowings  of  the  deepest  enjoyment. 

They  follow  as  closely  as  they  can  the  route 
mapped  out  for  them  by  Mokatchaui,  and  that 
afternoon,  a  little  past  sundown,  reach,  as   he   has 

232 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  233 

told  them  they  would  be  likely  to  do,  a  village  of 
Namaquas  who  have  fled  hither  all  the  way  across 
the  dread  Kalahari  in  order  to  escape  the  persecu- 
tions of  some  neighboring  chief. 

The  Namaquas  prove  very  friendly,  especially  so 
when  Pitsane  conies  forward  to  act  as  spokesman. 
Being  of  the  same  race  and  speaking  nearly  the 
same  language,  it  is  not  at  all  difficult  for  them  to 
understand  each  other,  and  in  a  little  while  every 
preparation  is  made  to  receive  the  travelers  into  the 
village.  A  huge  bonfire  is  at  once  built  within  the 
palisades,  the  chief  and  head-men  don  their  best 
attire,  while  word  is  now  sent  to  the  little  caravan 
that  it  may  enter  by  the  large  entrance- way  of  the 
village  and  will  be  made  welcome. 

As  soon  as  Cunnyngham  and  Pierce  dismount, 
they,  together  with  JSIazika,  Pitsane,  Kamati  and 
Jim,  are  led  within  the  circle  that  has  been  formed 
by  the  Marriors  of  the  village  around  the  fire.  A 
short  distance  within  the  circle  and  about  halfway 
between  it  and  the  fire  are  the  chief,  Topnaar,  and 
several  of  his  principal  men.  The  chief  is  a  little 
old  wizened  man  with  a  monkeyish  face  covered 
with  as  many  wrinkles  as  the  too-rapidly  dried 
outer  hull  of  a  walnut  is  apt  to  be.  Dirt  has  so 
accumulated  upon  his  person  as  to  make  his  skin 
almost  indistinguishable,  while,  as  though  it  were 
not  spfficiently  disguised,  it  is  smeared  with  a  tliick 
coat  of  red  ochre  and  grease.  In  imitation  of  the 
costume  of  the  half-civilized  Bechuanas,  with  whom 


234  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

he  has  had  much  friendly  intercourse,  he  is  attired 
in  a  ba<>:try  j>air  of  trousers  made  of  roughly-dressed 
jackal-skins.  He  has  no  shirt,  however,  and  no 
shoes  or  stockings.  Over  the  upper  part  of  his 
body  he  wears  a  kind  of  cloak  made  of  the  skins 
of  goats  with  the  hair  on.  It  is  fastened  about  the 
neck  and  thrown  buck  over  the  shoulders,  leaving 
the  shrunken,  hairy  chest  completely  bare.  About 
his  wrists  and  ankles  are  attaclad  bands  of  iron 
with  pendent  copper  beads,  while  his  head  is 
adorned  with  a  little  round  skin-cap  in  which  is 
stuck  a  dilapidated  ostrich-feather. 

The  men  are  attired  very  much  after  the  same 
fashion  as  the  chief,  save  that  not  many  of  them 
wear  trousers,  but  instead  the  skin  of  some  animal 
fastened  about  the  waist  and  falling  to  the  knees. 
Their  heads,  too,  with  the  exception  of  those  of  a 
few  of  the  more  prominent  members  of  the  tribe, 
are  destitute  of  any  covering.  The  women  wear 
short  skirts  of  skin,  some  few  of  cloth,  while  nearly 
all  of  them  have  the  upper  portion  of  the  body  cov- 
ered with  a  kind  of  bodice  made  from  thousands  of 
little  rounded  pieces  of  osti'ich  egg-shells  strung  on 
strings.  The  married  women  are  distinguished  from 
the  single  by  having  their  hair  raised  high  above 
their  heads  and  dressed  in  the  shape  of  ti  helmet. 

As  Cunnyngham,  Pierce  and  the  others  enter  the 
circle  the  chief  motions  them  to  a  seat  upon  some 
skins  that  have  been  placed  near  him  on  the  ground. 
A  large  dish  of  butter  is  now  produced,  from  which 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  235 

the  chief  begins  to  smear  his  face  and  chest  and  those 
of  the  principal  men  who  are  grouped  about  hira. 
This  accomplished,  he  picks  up  the  dish  and  ad- 
vances toward  Cunnyngham  and  Pierce. 

"  Oh  my !"  the  latter  exclaims  quickly  and  a 
little  nervously,  it  must  be  confessed,  "  what  can 
he  be  about  to  do  ?  Surely  not  to  smear  our  faces 
with  that  horrid  stuff  after  he  has  fairly  washed  his 
own  in  it  and  the  faces  and  chests  of  those  other 
horrid  dirty  fellows?" 

But  this  is  exactly  what  the  chief  is  about  to  do, 
as  both  Pierce  and  Cunnyngham  soon  discover, 
greatly  to  their  consternation  and  disgust.  , 

"  Quick,  Pitsane  !"  Pierce  cidls  out.  "  Quick  ! 
there's  a  good  fellow,  and  invent  some  excuse  for 
us — anything  to  keep  that  dirty  stuff'  from  being 
smeared  over  us." 

"  If  the  great  chief  of  the  Namaquas  Avill  listen 
to  the  words  of  his  black  brother,  he  will  tell  him 
how  the  white  chiefs  are  much  pleased  with  the 
friendliness  of  his  greeting,  and  how  their  hearts 
are  made  glad  that  Topnaar  has  gone  so  far  as  to 
provide  the  dish  of  butter,  which  they  recognize  is 
the  highest  welcome  he  could  give  them.  But  in 
their  own  country  the  white  brothers  have  a  bet- 
ter way  than  this  of  welcoming  the  stranger  whom 
they  wish  to  receive  as  a  friend  ;  it  is  by  shaking 
the  hand.  Therefore,  if  the  chief  will  now  permit 
it,  the  white  chiefs  will  return  his  friendly  greet- 
ings after  the  manner  of  their  own  country." 


236  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

Greatly  pleased  by  the  prospect  of  being  greeted 
as  the  wiiite  br(»thers  greet,  Topnaar  forgets  all  the 
anger  and  chagrin  he  might  otherwise  have  felt  at 
the  rejection  of  his  precious  bowl  of  butter.  There- 
fore he  at  once  settles  back  into  his  former  place, 
assumes  great  dignity  and  awaits  the  advances  that 
have  been  suggested.  A  little  later,  when  not  only 
his  hand  but  those  of  many  of  the  head-meu  have 
been  grasped  and  heartily  shaken  by  the  young 
strangers,  Topnaar's  little  old  wizened  face  is  one 
broad  smile  of  delight. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  women  of  the  village  have 
taken  charge  of  Ellie,  Hope,  Henrietta,  ^lamochi- 
sane  and  the  baby,  and  are  treating  them  as  kindly 
and  as  hospitably  as  it  is  in  their  ])ower  to  do. 
There  are  many  things  about  the  new-comers  that 
arouse  the  deepest  curiosity  and  wonder.  In  the 
first  ])lace,  they  are  the  first  females  of  the  white 
race  they  have  ever  seen.  One  or  two  white  trav- 
elers have  at  different  times  visited  their  village, 
both  at  its  present  location  and  at  the  former.  But 
they  have  all  been  rough,  thick-bearded  men,  no 
more  like  these  delicate,  fair-skinned  girls,  with 
their  smooth  faces  and  long  soft  hair,  than  if  they 
were  not  of  the  same  race.  No  wonder  these  simple 
savages  look  upon  them  as  creatures  of  an  altogether 
different  world.  But  as  much  as  Elbe's  and  Hope's 
hair  calls  for  their  wonder  and  admiration,  it  is  noth- 
ing like  the  feelings  with  which  they  examine  the 
long  golden  curls  of  the  little  Louise.    They  cluster 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  237 

about  lier  and  grasp  the  beautiful  strands  in  their 
hands,  twist  them  over  their  fingers  and  lay  them 
against  their  faces,  until  the  poor  little  one,  growing 
at  length  thoroughly  frightened  by  so  many  strange 
countenances  bent  near  her,  cries  to  her  sister  to 
take  her  away,  and,  running  to  EUie,  hides  her  face 
in  the  skirt  of  her  dress.  Seeing  the  fear  displayed 
by  the  little  one,  the  women  are  much  distressed,  for 
in  spite  of  their  ugly  faces  their  hearts  are  kind,  and 
to  produce  this  ejEJ'ect  upon  the  child  has  been  very 
far  from  their  intention.  They  are  therefore  much 
relieved  when,  after  a  great  deal  of  coaxing  on 
Ellie's  part,  Louise  is  finally  induced  to  hold  her 
head  up,  and,  after  throwing  a  kiss  at  them,  to 
say  very  sweetly, 

"I  t'ank  00  ver'  much  for  t'iuking  my  hair  so 
pooty.     Oo  is  ver'  nice,  an'  me  lub  oo.     Da-da!" 

With  the  last  meaningless,  but  in  baby  language 
quite  expressive,  exclamation  she  throws  them  an- 
other kiss  and  drops  them  a  most  charming  little 
courtesy. 

She  does  not  speak  the  words  plainly,  nor  would 
they  understand  them  if  she  did,  but  the  look  in 
the  sweet  baby  eyes,  the  cunning  movement  of  the 
tiny  hand  from  the  lips  toward  them  and  back  to 
the  lips  again,  the  demure  bob  of  the  golden  head, 
are  quite  sufficient.  They  understand  these  if  they 
understand  nothing  else. 

Learning  how  dreary  and  desolate  and  utterly 
devoid  of  shade  is  the  track  over  which  they  will 


238  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

have  to  pass  during  the  morrow,  and  receiving  from 
the  chief  the  assurance  that  if  they  will  wait  until 
the  followino:  niijht  he  will,  for  a  small  consid- 
eration,  send  two  of  his  men  with  them  as  guides, 
they  decide  to  tarry  until  the  time  specified.  That 
evening  they  sleep  most  soundly  with  the  protection 
of  the  village  ahout  them,  a  part  of  the  company  in 
the  wagon  as  usual,  and  the  others  upon  blankets 
under  sheher  of  the  canvas  stretched  out  from  each 
Bide  of  the  wagon.  The  bed  of  those  on  the  ground 
is  made  much  softer  by  the  addition  of  several 
armfuls  of  (h-ied  rushes  tendered  them  by  the  hos- 
pitable Namacpias. 

The  next  day  they  have  ample  opportunity  of 
lookintr  about  the  villaire  and  of  studvins  much 
of  the  dispositions  and  habits  of  the  Xamaquas. 
These  people  display  much  skill  in  the  manufacture 
of  baskets,  stools  and  a  rude  kind  of  chair,  though 
very  few  of  them  sit  upon  these  chairs  after  they  are 
manufactured.  Oftener  than  anything  else  the  chairs 
are  found  hanging  from  the  tops  of  their  huts  by 
way  of  ornament.  Two  of  the  baskets  and  one  of 
the  stools  are  presented  to  our  little  party,  and  after- 
ward prove  of  much  service. 

The  Namaquas  are  also,  like  so  many  of  the  sav- 
age tribes,  strong  believers  in  sorcery,  and  have  at 
their  village  various  "  kaiaobs,"  or  witch-doctors, 
both  male  and  female.  These  "  kaiaobs  "  are  firm- 
ly believed  to  possess  the  power  of  making  rain, 
of  restoring  the  sick  to  health,  of  discovering  the 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  239 

cause  of  a  person's  death  aud  of  performing  many 
miracles. 

While  our  young  people  are  at  the  village  an 
incident  that  is  most  revolting — to  them,  at  least 
— occurs. 

One  of  the  chief's  wives  being  taken  suddenly 
ill,  a  "kaiaob"  is  at  once  called  in.  In  this  in- 
stance it  is  a  woman,  and  as  on  her  way  to  the  hut 
she  passes  by  the  wagon  where  our  young  travel- 
ers are  assembled,  they  think  they  have  never  seen 
a  face  more  repulsive.  She  has  not  long  passed 
them  when  the  sounds  of  quite  a  hubbub  within 
the  hut  attract  their  attention.  Very  soon  Pitsane, 
who  has  by  some  chance  been  within  hearing-dis- 
tance, returns  to  tell  them  that  the  witch-doctor  has 
declared  that  a  great  "toros,"  a  mythical  kind  of 
serpent,  has  fired  an  arrow  into  the  woman's  back, 
and  further  asserts  that  unless  a  couple  of  goats 
are  forthwith  killed  and  the  combined  hearts  of  the 
two  placed  upon  the  wound  tlie  woman  will  die. 

"That  is  just  a  trick  of  the  wily  old  witcli- 
doctor  to  get  the  flesh  of  the  goats  for  herself,"  con- 
cludes Pitsane  with  confldence.  "  She  will  apply  the 
hearts  of  the  goats  to  the  woman's  back,  but  the 
rest  of  the  flesh  she  will  apply  to  herself" 

The  Avords  are  hardly  spoken  when  two  men 
pass  by  on  their  way  to  the  chieFs  cattle-pen, 
where  some  of  these  animals  are  always  kept  in 
case  of  an  emergency,  as  at  the  present.  A  little 
later  they  return  with  the  two  slain  goats. 


240  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

The  Namaquas  liave  a  superstitiou  in  regard  to 
the  hare  wliic-h,  as  soon  as  they  have  heard  it  from 
the  chief,  impresses  our  young  people  very  much. 
One  expression  in  it  especially  seems  so  akin  to 
a  certain  passage  of  the  Bible  that  they  wonder 
whence  these  people  could  have  obtained  it. 

"  Once  upon  a  time,"  begins  the  chief,  "  the  moon 
called  the  hare  and  bade  him  convey  to  man  the  fol- 
lowing message :  '  As  I  die  and  am  born  again,  so  you 
shall  die  and  be  again  alive.'  The  hare  hastened  to 
obey,  but  instead  of  saying,  'As  I  die  and  am  born 
again,'  he  said, '  As  I  die  and  am  not  born  again.'  On 
his  return  the  moon  inquired  what  words  he  had  con- 
veyed to  mankind,  and  on  being  informed  the  moon 
indignantly  exclaimed,  'What!  have  you  said  to 
man,  "As  I  die  and  am  not  born  again  "?  If  this 
is  true,  then  shall  you  die  and  not  be  again  alive.' 
With  this  she  hurled  a  stick  at  the  hare  with  such 
force  as  to  split  open  his  lips,  which  is  the  cause  of 
his  queer-looking  mouth  to  this  day." 

On  account  of  this  legend  the  flesh  of  the  hare 
is  not  eaten  by  the  Namaquas,  for  they  firmly  be- 
lieve that  if  they  do  so  they  will  at  once  die.  Old 
Toj^naar  further  adds:  "We  are  still  so  enraged 
with  the  hare  for  bringing  us  such  a  message  from 
the  moon,  that  we  will  not  let  him  live  near  us,  but 
when  we  find  one  we  send  him  on  and  on." 

When  speaking  of  the  moon  Namaquas  do  not 
say,  as  our  young  people  are  so  used  to  saying,  that  it 
"rises  and  sets,"  but  that  it  "dies  and  is  born  again." 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  241 

But  the  most  ridiculous  theory  they  have  is  oue 
in  regard  to  the  rising  of  the  sun. 

"The  great  fiery  ball  that  shines  up  yonder," 
says  one  of  the  villagers  in  explanation  of  the 
matter  to  Pierce,  "  is  nothing  but  a  mass  of  fat 
on  fire.  At  night  it  descends  into  the  sea.  There 
it  is  caught  by  the  chief  of  a  white  man's  ship, 
who  cuts  away  a  portion  of  the  tallow,  and  giving 
the  rest  a  kick,  it  bounds  away,  sinks  under  the 
waves,  goes  rouud  below,  and  then  comes  up  again 
in  the  east." 

"  The  sun,  moon  and  stars  are  all  God's  work," 
says  Pierce,  trying  to  speak  as  impressively  as  he 
can.  "  He  put  them  into  the  sky  to  give  us  light 
by  day  and  guidance  by  night.  They  never  go  out 
of  the  sky,  but  stay  there  always.  It  is  the  earth 
that  moves.  When  it  turns  over  from  the  sun, 
then  it  is  night ;  when  it  turns  back  toward  the 
sun,  tiien  it  is  day." 

"  The  world  cannot  turn,"  declares  the  man,  much 
astonished,  "for  if  it  did  we  should  all  tumble  about 
and  roll  off,  and  the  trees  would  stand  on  their  heads, 
and  the  rivers  would  flow  out  of  their  beds." 

They  are  standing  near  the  wagon  as  they  are 
speaking.  Seeing  a  tin  bucket  half  filled  with 
water  standing  upon  a  stool  near  by.  Pierce  takes 
it  up  and  with  a  swift  dextrous  movement  swings 
it  around  and  around  so  that  not  a  drop  is  spilled, 

"  Now,  why  does  not  the  water  come  out  of  the 
bucket?"  he    questions.     "  I    turn   it    around   and 

J6 


242  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

around,  I  even  turn  the  bucket  upside  down,  and  it 
still  stays.  So  we  stay  upon  the  earth  without  fall- 
ing off,  althougli  it  swings  around  and  around.  As 
the  movemeut  I  give  the  bucket  is  just  the  move- 
ment to  keep  the  water  within,  so  the  movement 
the  earth  has  is  just  such  a  movement  as  to  keep 
the  objects  upon  its  surface  undisturbed. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  was  a  very  far-fetched  illus- 
tration," Pierce  says  in  confidence  to  himself  a  few 
moments  later,  "  but  at  the  time  I  couldn't  think 
of  anything  else  that  the  poor  ignorant  fellow 
would  be  at  all  likely  to  comprehend.  I  won- 
der what  the  scientists  would  say?"  he  questions 
with  an  amused  laugh. 

As  for  the  poor  man,  he  is  so  badly  frightened 
by  what  Pierce  has  done  as  not  to  be  capable,  at 
least  for  a  time,  of  even  thinking  of  what  he  has 
said.  That  the  youth  should  swing  the  bucket 
in  so  violent  a  manner  around  and  around,  and 
yet  not  spill  the  water,  is  truly  a  most  wonder- 
ful thing.  In  short,  he  looks  upon  it  as  nothing 
less  than  magic,  and  at  once  runs  away  as  fast 
as  his  legs  will  carry  him  to  tell  to  his  associates 
how  the  young  white  witch-doctor  has  turned  a 
bucket  upside  down  without  any  of  the  water 
running  out,  and  also  how  he  has  said  that  the 
world  is  constantly  rolling  over,  and  that  the  sun 
is  not  a  ball  of  fat,  and  that  it  never  was  known 
to  go  down  into  the  sea,  and  ever  so  nnich  more. 

Quite  a  pathetic,  and   yet   in   most   respects  an 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  243 

amiiising,  incident  occurs  ere  our  friends  leave  the 
Namaqua  village. 

The  moans  and  ])iteous  bellowings  of  the  poor 
cow  whose  calf  the  lion  has  destroyed  have  by  this 
time  become  so  distressing  that  even  the  people  of 
the  village  are  touched  with  pity.  Topuaar  sug- 
gests that  a  straw  calf  be  made  for  her,  declaring 
that  he  has  often  cured  cows  of  his  own  in  this 
way.  At  first  the  white  people  are  greatly  amused 
by  the  idea,  but  finally  decide  to  let  it  be  tried, 
especially  as  it  can  do  no  harm. 

"She  will  slobber  over  it  as  though  it  were  her 
own,"  declares  the  chief  confidently.  "You  will 
see  if  she  does  not." 

With  these  words  he  sends  several  of  the  women 
to  prepare  the  calf.  In  a  short  while  they  return 
bearing  what  our  young  travelers  are  surprised  to 
see  is  really  a  first-rate  imitation  of  a  baby  bovine, 
spots  and  all.  Slipping  up  behind  the  cow,  they 
place  it  near  her  when  her  back  is  toward  them. 
All  at  once,  on  turning,  she  beholds  it.  A  most 
joyful  bellow  is  the  result,  followed  by  a  delighted 
licking  of  its  bogus  skin.  Indeed,  she  shows  every 
sio-n  of  havinor  recognized  the  calf  as  hers,  and  con- 
tinues  to  treat  it  to  a  series  of  most  animated  ca- 
resses, lowing  deeply  and  contentedly  to  herself 
all  the  while. 

But  suddenly  a  most  amusing  thing  occurs.  On 
giving  it  a  more  demonstrative  caress  than  any  that 
has  yet  preceded  it,  her  rough  tongue  comes  in  con- 


244  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI. 

tact  witli  a  {lefcctive  portion  of  tlie  material,  when 
a  considerable  rent  is  made  in  it  through  which  at 
once  protriule  uuincrous  wisps  of  hay  and  straw. 
Instantly  the  animal  nature  asserts  itself  over  the 
maternal,  for,  bending  her  head  downward  with  a 
sudden  little  excited  sniff,  she  proceeds  at  once  to 
devour  most  greedily  the  alluring  outlines  of  her 
pretended  offspring. 

When  all  is  over  and  the  bogus  calf  has  entirely 
disappeared,  she  seems  rather  ashamed  of  herself, 
but  principally  on  account  of  her  haste  and  greed. 
Strange  to  say,  from  that  time  forth  she  makes  no 
further  moan  for  her  lost  calf,  seeminfj  now  to  re- 
gard  its  disappearance  as  quite  natural  and  after 
the  way  it  should   have  gone. 

That  evening,  before  the  preparation  for  their 
departure  is  begun,  Cunnyngham,  at  Ellie's  re- 
quest, holds  a  public  service  to  which  all  the  vil- 
lage is  invited. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"  They  shall  be  mine,  saith  the  Lord  of  hosts." 

AT  sundown  they  bid  adieu  to  their  friends  the 
-  Namaquas,  and,  accompanied  by  the  two 
guides  that  Topnaar  has  for  a  moderate  considera- 
tion provided,  turn  their  faces  bravely  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Kalahari,  that  dreaded  bugbear  of  South 
African  travelers. 

Topnaar  also  accompanies  them  for  a  short  dis- 
tance on  the  way,  trailing  behind  him  the  branch 
of  a  tree  that  is  thickly  covered  with  small  red 
berries.  This,  he  declares,  is  to  give  them  success 
on  the  journey  and  to  take  them  safely  beyond  any 
snares  that  may  be  set  for  them. 

After  gravely  shaking  hands  with  them  all,  even 
with  the  children,  and  begging  a  few  strands  from 
Baby  Louise's  hair  as  a  charm,  he  leaves  them,  and 
the  last  sight  they  have  of  him  he  is  standing  still 
in  the  midst  of  the  grassy  track  over  which  they 
have  come  and  waving  wildly  above  his  head  the 
branch  with  the  red  berries. 

It  is  a  glorious  night,  one  of  those  magnificent 
tropical  moonlight  nights  that  have  been  so  often 

245 


246  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

described  l)v  travelers  in  this  luinisplu'rc.  With 
the  soft  hush  of  the  niooiilinlit  over  everything  the 
way  does  not  seem  either  so  dreary  or  so  desolate 
as  it  would  doubtless  appear  during  the  day.  Oc- 
casionally they  come  upon  a  clump  of  stunted  aca- 
cias or  a  small  thicket  of  thorn-bushos. 

At  daylight  they  outspan  near  the  kraal  of  a 
tribe  of  Bushmen  under  their  chief,  Mokoun,  aljout 
eighteen  miles  from  the  Namaqna  village. 

Our  young  travelers  have  heard  much  of  the 
state  of  extreme  degradation  in  which  these  people, 
the  lowest  of  all  the  African  tribes,  live,  but  they 
are  scarcely  j)re[)ared  for  the  reality. 

The  iiabitations  are  mere  burrows  in  the  earth, 
giving  to  the  entire  place  more  the  appearance  of 
dens  of  wild  animals  than  the  abodes  of  humau 
beings.  The  people,  too,  are  such  a  dirty,  miser- 
able, woe-begone-looking  set  of  creatures  that  it 
brings  tears  to  Hope's  and  Ellie's  sympathetic  eyes 
to  look  upon  them.  They  are  entirely  nude  with 
the  exception  of  a  small  skin  covering  that  hangs 
from  the  waist  to  M'ithin  half  the  distance  of  the 
knees. 

But  for  the  guides  they  have  brought  with  them 
our  young  travelei-s  would  find  it  extremely  diificult 
to  make  themselves  understood.  Even  as  it  is,  mis- 
understandings are  constantly  occurring — misunder- 
standings that  might  sometimes  have  very  unpleas- 
ant results  but  for  the  merry  and  fun-loving  dis- 
position of  the  Bushmen.     In    truth,   never  have 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  247 

our  young  friends  seen  a  people  so  degraded, 
having  no  comforts  and  but  a  scant  portion  of 
the  barest  necessities,  and  withal  dwelling  in  such 
content  and  cheerfulness,  or  a  people  whose  dis- 
positions so  strongly  belie  their  looks.  Their  en- 
tire worldly  possessions  consist  of  a  burrow  in  the 
ground,  a  bit  of  skin  to  partially  hide  their  nudity, 
and  a  few  miserable-looking  dogs  and  goats  that 
seem  never  to  have  known  what  it  was  to  partake 
of  a  full  meal  in  all  their  life. 

Only  the  great  black  ants  seem  to  flourish,  and 
they  are  here  in  abundance,  giving  to  our  travelers 
again  and  again  much  trouble  and  annoyance.  Just 
where  they  get  the  moisture  to  work  up  the  mortar 
for  their  queer-looking  abodes  seems  a  mystery,  for 
on  Pierce's  asking  of  Pitsane  where  water  is  to  be 
found,  he  is  told  that  there  is  none  whatever  here- 
abouts. 

"  No  water  !  Then  how  do  the  j)eople  live  ?" 
Principally  by  storing  up  in  the  shells  of  ostrich- 
eggs  during  the  rainy  season  a  supply  of  the  precious 
fluid  and  by  burying  them  in  the  sand,  he  is  told. 
Again,  they  obtain  from  the  tubers  of  certain  plants 
hidden  in  the  earth  a  refreshing  supply  of  the  life- 
sustaining  fluid.  It  is  also  chiefly  through  these 
plants  that  the  goats  and  dogs  are  kept  from  dying 
of  absolute  thirst.  The  hiding-place  of  these  plants 
is  discovered  by  means  of  a  stalk  about  the  size  of  a 
crow's  quill  which  runs  for  some  little  distance  along 
the  top  of  the  ground. 


2-18  (JlllLDREN  UF   THE  KALAHARI: 

Near  the  habitation  of  these  Bushmen,  Pitsane 
also  tells  Pierce,  there  are  a  few  saud-wclls,  or 
rather  what  are  little  more  than  mere  "sucking 
holes."  The  method  of  obtaining  water  from  these 
holes  is  both  singular  and  repulsive.  The  supply  is 
generally  procured  by  the  women,  who  gather  about 
the  spot  with  their  vessels,  which  are  usually  nothing 
more  than  ostrich  egg-shells  with  a  sniall  hole  at  one 
side  of  them.  Thrusting  the  end  of  a  large  reed 
down  through  the  sand  to  where  the  water  is,  they 
apply  their  lips  to  the  other  end.  The  water  is  then 
sucked  up  through  the  reed  into  the  mouth,  whence 
it  is  ejected  into  an  ostrich-egg-shell  vessel  by  means 
of  another  reed  leading  from  it  to  them.  Some- 
times the  water  is  simply  squirted  from  the  mouth 
into  the  vessels.  It  seems  revolting  to  write  of 
this,  but  then  there  are  other  methods  and  ways 
of  these  degraded  people  which  are  even  more  re- 
pulsive. 

The  cows  belonging  to  the  little  caravan  seem  to 
attract  the  attention  of  Mokoun  and  his  ])eople  more 
than  anything  else.  They  crowd  about  them,  talk- 
ing and  gesticulating  with  all  their  might,  and  when 
Jim,  having  finished  the  morning's  milking,  holds 
up  for  their  inspection  the  buckets  of  rich,  foaming 
milk,  they  leap  into  the  air  and  clap  their  hands 
vigorously  together,  then  upon  their  sides  and 
(;hests,  thus  displaying  extraordinary  delight  and 
appreciation  at  so  unusual  a  sight.  They  finally 
fall    upon  the  ground  and  roll  from  side    to    side 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  249 

with  their  tongues  protruding.  Ellie  and  Hope 
are  frightened,  thinking  the  poor  creatures  have 
assuredly  gone  into  a  fit,  but  Cunnyngham  reas- 
sures them  by  telling  them  that  they  are  only 
expressing  their  great  delight  at  seeing  what  nuist 
appear  to  them  a  most  magnificent  array  of  cattle 
for  one  camp  to  possess. 

"  Poor  creatures  !"  says  Hope  pityingly  ;  "  I 
know  they  are  half  starved.  Let  us  give  them 
some  of  the  milk." 

"  You  may  do  so  if  you  think  best,"  returns 
Cunnyngham,  "  but  I  am  afraid  it  will  end  in 
having  the  whole  village  around  us  begging.  It 
will  be  hard  to  give  to  some  and  not  to  others,  and 
we  have  nothing  like  enough  to  go  around.  These 
poor  creatures  have  so  long  subsisted  upon  the  roots 
and  berries  of  the  desert  and  the  carcasses  of  all 
kinds  of  animals,  that  it  would  be  little  less  than 
an  absolute  cruelty  to  give  them  a  taste  of  that 
which  might  lead  them  to  be  less  contented  with 
their  hard  lot.  But  I  will  tell  you  what  we  will 
do  :  we  will  kill  two  of  the  sheep  and  send  them 
as  a  present  to  the  chief,  with  the  request  that  he 
divide  them  among  his  people." 

This  is  accordingly  done,  and  a  short  while  there- 
after the  sounds  given  forth  by  the  delighted  creat- 
ures as  they  feast  upon  the  meat  are  like  strains  of 
music  to  the  ears  of  Hope  and  Ellie.  The  poor 
half-starved  dogs  also  come  in  for  a  share  of  the 
feast   in  the  offal  of  the  slaughtered  animals,  for 


2o0  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

Cunnvnp;hain  lias  takeu  care  to  have  the  carcasses 
cleaned  ore  sciidiiiij  tlioni  to  the  chief",  well  knowing 
the  filthy  inclinations  of  these  degraded  people. 

The  wretched  dogs  excite  the  sympathy  of  Ellie 
and  Hope  quite  as  much  as  their  masters  have  done, 
and  they  forthwith  proceed  to  bestow  upon  them 
sundry  scraps  of  dried  flesh  and  various  odds  and 
ends  purloined  from  the  commissary  department  of 
the  wagon,  and  others,  again,  that  are  more  than 
odds  and  ends.  The  dogs  are  indeed  most  })itiable- 
looking  objects,  little  more  than  skin  and  bones, 
with  glassy  eyes  and  froth-covered  jaws.  One  of 
them  especially  attracts  Hope's  attention.  He  is  a 
large  dog — large  even  with  his  skin  clinging  close 
to  his  bones.  His  hair,  what  little  there  is  left,  is 
gray  in  color  with  stripes  of  black.  His  head  is  iu 
shape  somewhat  like  a  wolf's,  only  more  massive, 
while  his  eyes,  in  spite  of  the  sickly  gleam  starva- 
tion has  given  them,  have  a  much  more  intelligent 
look  than  those  of  the  rest  of  his  fellows.  It  makes 
Hope's  heart  throb  with  jiity  to  notice  the  innumer- 
able marks  of  stripes  and  blows  upon  his  poor 
emaciated  frame. 

"  He  nmst  have  a  very  cruel  master,"  she  says. 
"  If  only  I  could  take  both  him  and  his  miser- 
able fellows  and  make  fat,  haj)py  creatures  of 
them  !" 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  that  day,  as  they  are 
about  to  begin  preparations  for  their  departure, 
Hope's   attention    is   attracted    by  a   commotion   a 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  251 

short  distance  to  the  right  of  where  the  wagon 
stands.  On  turning  in  that  direction  she  catches 
sight  of  the  same  dog  she  has  been  so  deeply  pity- 
ing ravenously  devouring  a  pair  of  skin  shoes  that 
Pitsane  has  made  for  Mazika  only  two  or  three  days 
before. 

Jim  has  already  spied  the  miserable  brute,  and  is 
now  running  toward  him  hallooing  loudly.  Pitsane 
and  Kamati  have  also  started  hastily  in  the  same 
direction,  but,  despite  the  shouts  and  the  various 
other  demonstrations,  the  poor  starved  brute  still 
keeps  up  his  vehement  attacks  upon  the  shoes. 

Others  now  catch  sight  of  him,  among  them  a 
number  of  Bushmen  who  have  been  lingering  about 
the  camp  in  order  to  see  the  travelers  take  their  de- 
parture. With  these  is  the  dog's  master,  who  as 
soon  as  he  comprehends  the  situation  recognizes, 
doubtless,  that  this  is  a  shabby  return  indeed  to 
make  to  those  who  have  bestowed  so  many  favors, 
and  forthwith  proceeds  to  impress  this  fact  in  the 
most  emphatic  manner  upon  the  seemingly  ungrate- 
ful brute. 

When  the  blows  from  a  great  stick  in  the  Bush- 
man's hand  first  rain  down  upon  the  scarred  body 
of  the  miserable  l)rute,  he  merely  shrugs  up  his  back, 
opens  his  jaws  and  grins  in  a  most  ghastly  manner. 
Evidently  this  is  but  an  every-day  occurrence  to 
him.  But  flesh  and  blood  are  flesh  and  blood  after 
all,  and  as  the  blows  continue  to  fall  thick  and  fast 
he  drops  the  remnant  of  the  shoe  he  has  nearly  de- 


252  CHILDREN   OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

voured  and  crouches  before  his  master  howliDg  pit- 
eou.sly. 

Hope  cau  staud  uo  more.  In  a  moment  she  is 
flying  over  the  ground  that  intervenes  between  her 
and  the  inhumanly  bclal)orcd  brute,  and  ere  any 
one  can  surmise  her  intention  has  thrown  herself 
between  the  howling  dog  and  his  savage  master. 
So  quick  is  she  that  she  has  precipitated  herself  in 
front  of  tlie  dog  ere  the  man  is  aware  of  her  pres- 
ence. Thus  she  receives  across  one  arm  the  full 
force  of  a  blow  that  has  been  intended  for  the  dog. 
It  makes  her  sick  and  giddy,  and  for  the  first  few 
seconds  she  thinks  the  bone  must  surely  be  broken. 

As  to  the  Bushman,  when  he  realizes  what  he 
has  done  he  is  nearly  beside  himself  with  terror. 
Dropping  his  stick,  he  stands  rooted  to  the  spot 
with  his  eyes  rolling  as  though  they  would  quite 
roll  out  of  his  head.  Then,  recovering  himself,  he 
begins  to  gesticulate  wildly,  finally  falling  upon  his 
knees  in  front  of  Pierce  and  Cunnyngham  with  his 
hands  clasped  entreatingly.  As  for  Hope,  fi^'get- 
ting  for  a  time  the  pain  of  the  blow,  Avhich  has  also 
raised  a  great  angry-looking  wheal  several  inches  in 
length  across  the  soft  white  flesh  of  her  arm,  she  is 
now  sobbing  over  the  poor  beaten  dog  with  her  arms 
about  his  neck  and  murmuring  pitying  words  to  him 
all  the  while. 

"  Oh,  II<>j)e,"  Pierce  cries  as  he  springs  to  her 
side,  "  what  have  you  done?  That  blow  was  enough 
to  break  your  arm.     Is  it  hurt  very  much,  dear?" 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  253 

*'Oh  no,"  she  answers  quickly,  yet  somewhat 
brokenly,  "I  scarcely  feel  it." 

"  That  is  because  you  are  so  much  excited.  Let 
go  the  dog,"  taking  hold  of  her  arms  as  he  speaks 
and  trying  gently  to  disengage  them. 

"Oh,  I  cannot;  that  man  will  surely  kill  him  if 
I  do.  Oh,  Pierce,  ask  him  if  I  may  not  have  the 
dog.     I  will  give  him  anything  that  is  reasonable." 

Pierce  goes  forward,  and  by  using  Pitsane  and 
one  of  the  Namaqua-men  as  interpreters,  makes 
known  to  the  Bushman  Hope's  desire  to  possess  the 
dog,  at  the  same  time  asking  him  to  name  what  he 
will  take  for  the  creature.  The  man  is  very  much 
surprised  at  first,  and  hesitates  a  long  time,  but  he 
finally  makes  public  his  willingness  to  take  in  ex- 
change for  the  dog  a  pocket-knife  that  Pierce  has 
shown  him  and  the  skins  of  the  two  sheep  recently 
slaughtered. 

"  The  poor  miserable  brute  is  hardly  worth  so 
much  as  that,"  Pierce  comments  to  himself.  "I 
hope  my  cousin  will  have  no  cause  to  repent  of  her 
bargain." 

It  is  quite  evident  that  on  her  own  part  Hope 
has  no  such  apprehension,  at  least  not  at  present, 
for  the  moment  the  trade  is  struck  and  the  dog 
is  hers  she  starts  up  joyfully,  calliug  to  him  to 
follow. 

"I  shall  call  him  Smike,"  says  Hope  a  few 
minutes  later. — "  You  remember,  Ellie,  the  wretch- 
ed, half-starved  little  creature  in  Dickens's  Nicholas 


254  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI. 

Nichhhy  who  was  the  cruelly  outraged  hack  of  all 
those  thvadful  Squeers?" 

"  Yes,  clear,  and  the  name  docs  seem  most  appro- 
priate," reaching  out  her  hand  as  she  speaks  to  pat 
the  dog's  great  bony  head. 

Hope  has  no  trouble  in  getting  Smike  to  fall  in 
behind  the  wagon  as  they  start  off  from  the  Bush- 
man village.  Indeed,  he  has  even  in  this  sliort 
time  so  learned  the  tones  of  her  voice  that  he  will 
get  up  at  once  and  follow  anywhere  she  leads. 

But  the  most  pathetic  })icture  is  that  made  by 
Smike's  late  comijanions,  the  dogs  of  the  Bushmen 
village.  In  a  wildly-staring,  curiosity-stricken 
grouji  they  sit  upon  their  lean  haunches  and  watch 
the  dej)arture  of  the  caravan. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

/'He  made  and  loveth  all." 

ABOUT  midnight,  as  they  are  passing  near  a 
-  small  oasis-like  expanse  in  the  midst  of  the 
almost  trackless  waste  over  which  they  have  come 
for  the  })ast  ten  miles,  their  attention  is  suddenly 
attracted  by  a  glare  of  light  that  seems  to  penetrate 
an  opening  in  a  tangle  of  shrubbery. 

"  That  must  be  a  camj),"  says  Cunnynghara  to 
Pitsane  as  they  are  riding  together  at  the  head  of 
the  little  caravan.  "  Why,  who  can  it  be  at  this 
place  and  awake  at  this  hour?" 

"  If  Pitsane  mistakes  not,  it  is  Bushmen — Bush- 
men who  hunt  the  ostrich." 

On  riding  in  the  direction  whence  the  light 
issues  they  find  it  is  as  Pitsane  has  surmised. 
The  Bushmen  are  eight  in  number,  the  greater 
part  of  them  entirely  nude.  But,  strange  to  say, 
all  of  them  but  two  have  on  queer-looking  skin 
caps,  which  they  seem  to  think  is  all  the  covering 
necessary  and  quite  ample  for  the  entire  body. 
With  the  exception  of  one  who  seems  to  be  the 
leader,    they    are   squatted   about   a  small  fire   on 

255 


2oG  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

Avliicli  is  placed  a  strange-looking  round  vessel 
that  seems  to  have  sometliing  boiling  within  it, 
doubtless  a  soup  made  of  the  bones  of  some  ani- 
mal recently  slain. 

Pierce  and  Pitsaue  dismount  and  approach  the 
camp,  and  by  means  of  various  signs  and  with 
what  help  Pitsane  can  give.  Pierce  soon  learns 
that  they  belong  to  the  same  kraal  of  Bushmen 
recently  passed,  and  are,  as  Pitsane  has  surmised, 
on  an  ostrich-hunt.  They  have  already  been  a 
week  away  from  the  village,  and  have  slain  over  a 
score  of  ostriches,  besides  gathering  a  large  num- 
ber of  eo-ffs.  Pierce  makes  the  Bushmen's  hearts 
quite  happy  by  the  purchase  of  a  goodly  number 
of  the  feathers  and  eggs. 

The  sun  is  quite  two  hours  high  and  its  rays  are 
beating  fiercely  down  ujion  them  ere  they  reach  the 
kraal  of  the  Busiiman,  Shobo.  Tiie  curiosity  of 
our  young  wanderers  concerning  this  man,  whose 
name  has  become  so  well  known  througii  its  close 
association  with  that  of  Livingstone,  is  so  great 
that  scarcely  a  day  has  passed  since  the  journey 
was  begun  that  they  have  not  thought  and  talked 
of  their  meeting  wMth  him. 

They  find  the  kraal  of  these  Bushmen  in  every 
respect  a  decided  improvement  upon  that  they  have 
left  some  twenty  miles  back.  The  village  has  some 
regularity  about  it,  the  huts  being  arranged  in  rows. 
About  them  all  there  is  quite  a  respectable  barri- 
cade of  thorn-bushes.     There  are  also  several  small 


Coming  on  a  Bushmen's  Camp.  Page  256. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  257 

herds  of  goats  in  good  condition,  and  even  a  cow 
or  twt). 

On  the  inqniry  being  made  for  Shobo,  they  are 
mucii  shocked  to  learn  that  the  old  chief  is  very 
ill — in  fact,  said  by  the  fetish-man  (medicine-man) 
to  be  about  to  go  to  the  other  country  of  which  he 
has  so  long  talked. 

At  first  the  fetish-man  declares  most  positively 
that  they  cannot  see  the  chief,  but  on  Shobo  him- 
self learning  of  the  presence  of  white  people  in  his 
village,  he  at  once  sends  for  them.  Pierce  and 
Cunnyngham  respond  to  this  message. 

"  Shobo  heart  him  make  glad  to  see  one  mo'  time 
w'ite  brudders,"  he  says  in  broken  English  as  they 
approach  him,  and  he  motions  them  to  a  seat  upon 
a  skin  rug.  "  Shobo  him  plenty  got  fear  him  neb- 
ber  see  no  mo'  w'ite  people  same  as  w'ite  fetish- 
man  Shobo  loved.*  W'ite  fetish-man  done  gone 
way  ober  big  desert;  him  gone  one  time,  him  gone 
two  time,  him  gone  tree  time,  an'  den  him  nebber 
come  back  no  mo'.  Shobo  go  wid  him  one  time, 
Shobo  go  two  time,  Shobo  go  tree  time,  but  Shobo 
no  go  wid  him  when  him  come  back  ober  desert 
las'  time.  Fetish-man  him  go  on  down  to  Cape. 
Dere  he  go  'way  on  big  city  what  moves  on  water,f 
an'  him  nebber  come  back  no  mo'.  Can  w'ite 
brudders  tell  Shobo  where  fetish-man  gone?" 

"  If  it  is  Dr.  Livingstone  of  whom  you  speak, 
Shobo,"  Cunnyngham  says  in  deep,  feeling  tones, 

*  Livingstone.  f  A  ship. 

17 


258  VHlLDREy   OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

"then  he  lias  indeed  gone  away  never  to  n'tiini. 
He  is  in  that  world  beyond  the  sky  of*  which  hi' 
has  doubtless  told  you  often." 

"Oh  yes,  him  tell  Shobo  one  big  heap  'bout 
great  worlil  where  mighty  chief  lib  name  God. 
Him  tell  'im  b'leebe  in  great  INIan,  den  him  tek 
Shobo  some  day  lib  wid  him.  Oh,  is  fetish-man 
weally  gone  where  great  God  stay?  Den  Shobo 
him  no  mo'  'fraid.  Him  see  dere  good  fetish-man 
what  say  all  men  brudders." 

"Then  you  loved  Livingstone  very  much?  he 
was  good  to  you  ?"  Pierce  questions. 

"Him  one  big  heap  good  to  po'  Shobo,  but  him 
yillie  heap  stern  too.  Shobo  need  it.  Shobo  one 
time  mighty  bad  man.  Him  git  mad,  den  him 
leab  go  bang  'gainst  tree  as  not ;  him  smash  yudder 
heads  dere  too  if  dey  in  his  way.  When  Shobo  go 
bad,  fetish-man  jus'  look  one  time  at  Shobo — look 
one  time  hard  like  him  look  'im  troo — den  Shobo 
no  mo'  all  ober  big  smart.  Him  jus'  fall  down  an' 
creep  'way.  Wish  him  could  die.  Den  fetish-man 
him  follow  Shobo ;  him  say  kind  word  to  Shobo. 
Den  Shobo  feel  mo'  yillie  still  wish  him  mo'  die 
dan  ebber. 

"One  time  Shobo  lose  way.  No  water,  no  water 
anyw'eres.  Country  him  all  dry  up.  Oxen  nearly 
die;  men  nearly  die.  Fetish-man  wife  look  like 
him  all  time  ready  dead.  Yillie  chillen  dem  sholy 
dead,  Shobo  t'ink.  Shobo  lose  him  head  like  him 
lose  way.     Shobo  like  one  'sleep.     Shobo  no  find 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  259 

water.  All  dry  country,  no  water  ebberways  look. 
Den  yuckler  w'ite  mens  git  mad,  say  big  heap  bad 
words  Shobo.  Wan'  er  strak  Shobo  wid  stick  ; 
fetish-man  no  let  'em.  Him  say,  'Shobo  no  all 
bit  to  blame.'  Him  feel  some  mad  wid  Shobo 
too,  but  him  no  show  him  mad  like  y udder  mens. 
Him  talk  kind  to  Shobo.  Him  tell  him  try  to 
t'ink  where  water  is.  But  Shobo  done  lose  him 
head,  an'  Shobo  dat  night  run  off;  him  'fraid 
yudder  white  men  kill  him  when  de  day  come  if 
he  no  find  water.  Him  no  stop  till  him  git  to 
Mahobe. 

"  Den  fetish-man  him  git  troo  de  desert ;  find 
Shobo  heap  time  later.  Shobo  t'ink  now  him 
sholy  be  killed.  But  no ;  fetish-man  him  talk 
kind  same's  ever  to  all-bad  Shobo.  Him  tell  him 
mo'  'bout  de  great  sky-man  what  care  for  eben 
all-bad  Shobo.  Him  tell  him  heap  mo'.  Him  say 
de  kind  word  ebber  day  him  stay  where  Shobo 
was.  Him  tell  him  great  IMan's  name  God.  Him 
tell  him  great  Man  lub  Shobo  big  heap  if  Shobo 
just  make  try  do  what  right ;  but  wdien  Shobo  all 
ober  bad  an'  no  sorry  him  bad,  den  sky-man  no 
lub  him.  Den  Shobo  him  t'ink  what  fetish-man 
say,  an'  him  all  time  sorry  him  big  bad  ober.  Den 
fetish-man  fall  down  by  Shobo;  him  clasp  him 
han',  an'  him  pray  to  great  Man  in  sky  gib  Shobo 
new  heart.  Den  Shobo  him  pray  too  what  fetish- 
man  tell  him.  Den  new  heart  mus'  come,  'cause 
Shobo  no  mo'  feel  bad  all  ober,  an'  him  no  mo' 


260  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

long  to  go  bang  'gainst  tree.  Him  like  new  Shobo 
all  troo  an'  troo.  Ilini  come  an'  tell  him  people. 
Him  try  let  yndders  know  'bont  great  Man  what 
make  ober  all-bad  hearts.  Some  him  people  b'leebe, 
some  on'y  langh,  but  Shobo  him  no  git  mad.  Him 
tell  'em  'mong  yudder  tings  dey  mus'  no  longer  lib 
in  holes.  So  Shobo  git  'em  make  houses.  Den 
Shobo  git  'em  be  one  heap  mo'  clean.  An'  den 
him  git  'em  mo'  goats  an'  one,  two,  tree,  fo'  cow. 
Him  sho'  'em  heap  t'ings  what  people  do  Avhat  try 
please  great  Man  in  sky.  Shobo  people  now 
mighty  heap  good  to  -what  hab  been.  Shobo  him 
great  lot  glad,  an'  when  him  see  good  fetish-man 
up  dere,  him  too  be  mighty  heap  great  glad  hear 
what  Shobo  done." 

Ellie  and  Hope  are  much  struck  with  Shobo 
when  they  see  him,  while  he,  on  his  i)art,  takes 
greatly  to  them.  Henrietta,  too,  comes  in  for  her 
share  of  the  old  Bushman's  regard,  and  is  never 
better  pleased  than  when  she  is  allowed  to  go  and 
read  to  him  from  her  little  pocket  Bible,  which 
she  does  during  every  day  of  their  stay  at  the 
village. 

On  making  inquiries  of  Shobo,  our  young  travel- 
ers are  much  perplexed  and  worried  to  learn  that 
there  is  at  present  no  one  in  his  village  who  has  suf- 
ficient knowledge  of  the  Kalahari  to  ])rove  a  trusty 
guide  across  it — that  is,  in  the  direction  they  wish 
to  go.  There  are  many,  it  is  true,  who  say  they 
know,  and  who  are  eager  to  attach  themselves  to 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  261 

the  little  company  because  of  their  desire  to  obtain 
the  liberal  amount  of  pay  that  is  offered.  But 
whenever  the  matter  is  referred  to  the  old  chief 
with  the  name  of  the  applicant,  he  shakes  his  head 
very  decidedly.  He  assuredly  ought  to  know,  he 
says,  if  any  one  docs,  the  real  difficulties  of  the 
undertaking,  as  well  as  the  great  peril  that  is  in- 
vited by  having  a  guide  who  is  not  expert  about 
finding  water.  There  are  many  men  of  his  village, 
he  tells  them,  whom  he  could  trust  if  only  they 
were  here,  and  again  and  again  he  bemoans  the 
absence  of  his  son,  Horoye,  who,  he  tells  them, 
knows  almost  every  foot  of  the  desert  and  would 
be  just  the  very  one  to  go  with  them.  But  Horoye 
is  away  at  present  with  fully  a  dozen  of  the  best 
and  most  trusty  men  of  the  village.  As  they  are 
on  a  trading-expedition,  it  is  not  known  when  they 
will  return. 

Finally,  just  when  their  despair  is  at  its  height, 
two  Bushmen  from  a  neighboring  kraal  make  their 
appearance  at  Shobo's.  They  are  armed  with  their 
bows  and  poisoned  arrows  and  are  on  their  way 
to  hunt  ostriches.  When  they  hear  of  the  dilemma 
of  the  little  party,  they  at  once  offer  their  services 
as  guides.  They  seem  very  clever  fellows,  have  a 
straightforward  way  about  them  and  faces  much 
more  intelligent-looking  than  the  average  men  of 
their  class. 

Our  young  people  are  inclined  to  put  much  con- 
fidence in  them,  but  on  i\\Q  subject  being  broached 


262  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

to  Sliobo  he  is  quite  doubtful  as  to  their  ahility. 
They  may  know  the  desert  very  well,  he  says,  but 
the  water,  the  most  important  thing  of  all,  will 
they  know  what  to  do  about  that?  It  finally  ends 
in  Shobo  sending  for  them  and  questioning  them 
minutely.  Our  young  friends  await  in  mueh  sus- 
pense the  result  of  this  interview.  Late  that  after- 
noon Shobo  makes  his  opinion  known  to  them. 
As  it  seems  so  absolutely  necessary  for  them  to 
proceed  on  their  journey,  and  as  it  is  not  known 
when  Horoye  and  his  men  will  return,  he,  Shobo, 
thinks  maybe  these  men  will  do.  They  have  stood 
the  test  of  his  numerous  questionings  fairly  well, 
and  while  they  are  not  so  good  as  Horoye  or  Shobo 
himself  would  be,  still  they  may  succeed  in  getting 
the  little  caravan  through  all  right.  He,  Shobo, 
would  be  glad,  nay  proud,  to  have  the  travelers 
remain  with  him  and  his  people  as  long  as  they 
care  to  stay,  but  if  they  think  it  necessary  to  go 
on,  then  the  men  may  be  given  a  trial. 

Each  one  of  the  traveling-party  is  for  pushing 
on  at  once.  They  have  already  been  at  Shobo's  vil- 
lage more  than  a  week,  and  as  every  day  decreases 
their  stock  of  provisions,  there  is  great  danger  that 
if  they  do  not  soon  proceed  on  their  way  the  store 
will  be  quite  exhausted  ere  the  Makololos  are 
reached.  It  is  true  they  can  add  to  it  from  time 
to  time  by  the  flesh  of  such  animals  as  they  chance 
to  slay,  but  still  this  will  not  help  matters  much 
if  once  the  supply  of  flour  and  meal  gives  out.     It 


A  STOBY  OF  AFRICA.  263 

will  be  a  most  trying  diet  to  live  on  flesh  alone. 
Shobo  comes  manfully  to  their  aid  in  this  matter  by 
insisting  that  they  shall  take  with  them  a  quantity 
of  pumpkins,  potatoes  and  maize  his  people  have 
recently  obtained  in  trade  with  a  tribe  of  the  Baka- 
lahari.  This  they  finally  consent  to  do  on  Shobo 
agreeing  to  receive  the  value  of  these  supplies  in 
such  articles  as  compose  the  currency  of  the  dis- 
trict. He  also  informs  them  that  there  is  another 
tribe  of  the  Bakalahari  about  ten  miles  on  their 
route  from  whom  they  may  very  likely  obtain 
additional  supplies  of  pumpkins,  potatoes,  beans, 
maize  and  the  like. 

The  parting  with  Shobo  is  very  aifecting.  He 
has  grown  much  attached  to  them,  while  on  their 
part  they  have  formed  for  the  sturdy  old  Bushman 
a  sincere  regard,  as  well  as  an  honest  admiration 
for  his  many  fine  traits  of  character.  Tears  are 
in  their  eyes  as  they  shake  his  emaciated  hand  at 
parting,  while  his  voice  is  little  more  than  a  sob 
as  he  bids  them  good-bye : 

"  Shobo  see  chillen  o'  white  brudder  uo  mo'  here, 
but  Shobo  meet  'em  up  sky." 

These  are  almost  the  last  words  the  old  Bushman 
ever  utters,  for  after  they  leave  him  he  turns  his 
face  toward  the  wall  of  his  hut,  and  in  two  days 
more  is  dead. 

Our  little  party  is  successful  in  obtaining  from 
the  Bakalahari  alluded  to  by  Shobo  quite  a  good 
supply  of  potatoes,  pumpkins,  maize,  and  even  a 


264  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

few  l)eaii.s.  They  now  set  tbrtli  on  their  journey 
with  light  and  trusting  hearts,  despite  the  many 
perils  that  they  know  lie  before  theui. 

For  forty  miles  after  leaving  the  liakalahari 
there  is  an  absolutely  waterless  track,  and  had  they 
not  been  prepared  tor  it  their  sutl'ering  would  be 
great.  Even  as  it  is,  they  have  to  stint  the  sup- 
ply of  the  precious  Huid  to  such  an  extent  that  for 
the  first  time  they  catch  a  most  unpleasant  foretaste 
of  what  the  horrors  of  thirst  really  are. 

At  a  pleasant  spot  in  the  dreary  desert  they  camp 
for  two  days.  Here,  too,  they  find  a  very  fair  su}> 
ply  of  water,  and  here  for  the  fii-st  time  they  catch 
sight  of  a  drove  of  ostriches.  They  are  feeding  on 
the  plain  fully  a  half  mile  away,  and  seem  totally 
unconscious  of  the  presence  of  the  travelers. 

As  pleasing  a  sight  as  these  great  birds  present 
to  the  eyes  of  our  young  friends,  the  sight  is  even 
more  pleasing  to  those  of  the  Jiushnien  guides.  The 
latter  prepare  at  once  for  the  slaughter,  determined 
to  procure  as  many  feathers  as  possil)le. 

First  they  get  out  their  bows  and  arrows,  taking 
care  to  dip  afresh  the  points  of  the  latter  in  the 
])oisonons  matter  carried  along  for  this  purpose. 
Next  out  of  a  bundle  they  protluce  two  pieces  of 
wood  carved  so  as  to  represent  the  head  and  neck 
of  an  ostrich.  These  the  guides  fasten  to  the  napes 
of  their  necks  so  that  when  they  stoop  forward  the 
contrivances  stand  upright.  They  next  cover  their 
backs  and  shinddcrs  with  a  kind  of  saddle  made  of 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  265 

ostrich-feathers,  the  feet  and  legs  being  whitened 
with  a  preparation  resembling  chalk. 

Thus  equipped,  the  two  Bushmen  make  their  way 
slowly  and  cautiously  across  the  plain  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  spot  M'hcre  the  ostriches  are  so  quietly 
feeding.  The  birds  })ay  very  little  attention  to 
what  they  seem  to  think  is  only  a  new  addition  of 
their  own  species. 

But  in  a  moment  one  or  two  of  the  ostriches  begin 
to  show  some  little  signs  of  uneasiness.  They  raise 
their  heads  suddenly  and  glance  backward,  as  though 
not  altog-ether  assured  of  the  friendly  intentions  of 
these  feathered  strangers.  But,  alas  !  they  are  too 
late,  for  even  in  the  midst  of  the  act  of  doing  this 
the  two  concealed  Bushmen  lift  their  bows  and 
twang  go  their  arrows.  The  birds  that  are  hit  be- 
gin at  once  to  reel  around  like  drunken  men.  Di- 
rectly one  falls,  while  the  other,  after  trying  to  run 
a  short  distance,  staggers  from  side  to  side,  and  also 
falls  dead. 

The  other  ostriches  seem  determined  to  keep  up 
their  reputation  for  stupidity,  for  instead  of  making 
off  at  once  out  of  danger,  they  only  gaze  curiously 
at  the  strange  behavior  of  their  companions,  and, 
moving  off  a  space,  go  on  feeding  again. 

Two  more  now  fall  victims  to  the  poisoned  arrows 
of  the  Bushmen.  By  this  time  it  seems  to  penetrate 
even  the  stupid  heads  of  the  remaining  birds  that 
something  is  wrong,  and  one  of  the  Bushmen  now, 
by  a  false  movement,  getting  between  them  and  the 


266  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

wind,  their  long  legs  arc  at  once  put  in  motion  for 
flight. 

"If  tliose  Bushmen  get  anotliorshot  at  the  birds 
now,  they  will  have  to  run  much  faster  than  I  give 
them  credit  for  being  able  to  do,"  exclaims  Pierce, 
greatly  interested,  "  Why,  did  you  ever  see  any- 
thing to  equal  the  way  those  birds  use  their  legs? 
I  believe  they  could  outrun  the  swiftest  horse. 
There  !  they  seem  to  be  heading  directly  toward 
this  spot.  Surely  they  will  catch  a  sight  of  us  in 
time  to  turn  another  way.  I^ook  out !  here  they 
come  !  Quick,  everybody,  and  get  to  the  shelter 
of  the  wagons.  Steady  now,  and  let's  give  them  a 
shot  as  they  go  plunging  by." 

By  this  time  the  great  flying  birds  are  almost 
upon  the  campiug-j)lace.  In  another  moment  they 
have  reached  it  and  are  plunging  through,  scatter- 
ing everything  before  them.  As  they  clear  the 
camp  there  sound  sinudtaneously  the  sharp  reports 
of  four  rifles,  while  almo.-^t  immediately  two  of  the 
birds  fall  dead.  A  third  one,  they  think,  nnist  sure- 
ly be  hit,  by  the  track  of  blood  it  leaves  behind  it, 
though  it  keeps  steadily  on.  But  gradually  its  pace 
begins  to  slacken,  until  finally  about  two  hundred 
yards  beyond  the  camp  it  suddenly  reels  and  falls. 

"I  never  saw  anything  so  stupid,"  comments 
Pierce  again.  "Why  didn't  they  go  around  us? 
They  must  have  seen  us  at  the  last,  and  yet  they 
never  made  even  a  movement  of  swerving  from 
their  course." 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  267 

"Ostreedge  him  one  big  heap  fool  bird,"  says  one 
of  the  Bushmen  in  broken  English,  having  by  this 
time  reached  the  camp  in  his  pursuit  of  the  flying 
birds,  and  coming  up  just  in  time  to  overhear 
Pierce's  remarks.  "  When  ostreedge  all  over  heap 
fear,  him  run  all  one  way.  Him  butt  him  brains 
out  'g'in'  en't'ing  in  'im  paff  (path)  'fo'  'im  turn 
out'n  de  way.  When  ostreedge  once  git  all  ober 
scared,  him  shut  'im.eye  an'  run.  Him  no  open 
'im  eye  for  en't'ing.  One  time  me  see  ostreedge 
go  bang  slap  'g'inst  tree  an'  mash  him  head  flat, 
flat  as  massa  hand." 

The  seven  dead  ostriches  are  now  brought  into 
camp  and  the  work  of  securing  the  feathers  begins. 
Four  of  them  of  course  belong  to  the  Bushmen,  the 
others  to  our  travelers.  Two  of  the  birds  are  males, 
the  other  five  females,  and  all  are,  with  one  excep- 
tion, fully  grown.  On  the  lower  part  of  the  necks 
and  bodies  of  the  male  birds  the  feathers  are  of  a 
deep  and  glossy  black,  intermingled  with  a  few 
whitish  ones.  In  the  females  the  general  color  of 
the  neck-feathers  is  of  a  grayish  or  ashy-brown, 
fringed  with  white.  But  the  most  beautiful  feath- 
ers, as  also  the  most  valuable,  are  those  upon  the 
wings  and  tails.  These  in  both  the  males  and 
females  are  of  a  beautiful  pure  white  that  calls 
forth  exclamations  of  admiration,  from  Ellie  and 
Hope  especially,  the  moment  they  see  them. 

From  twenty-five  to  thirty  of  these  feathers  are 
taken  from    each    bii-d,    though    only   about   two- 


268  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI. 

thirds  of  tlicin  prove  worthy  of  jireservation. 
However,  those  that  are  di.seanled  Pitsane  care- 
fully gathei-s  up.  Ellie  and  Hope  wonder  what 
he  can  be  going  to  do  with  tin  in.  Their  sjiecula- 
tion  is  changed  to  a  feeling  of  delight  when  a  few 
days  later  he  pi*eseut.s  each  of  them  with  a  very 
creditable  parasol  made  of  the  feathers  most  in- 
geniously woven  together  and  fastened  upon  a 
frame,  which  while  it  is  somewhat  rudely  con- 
structed is,  nevertheless,  very  light  and  service- 
able. The  young  girls  are  exceedingly  proud  of 
their  parasols,  and  find  them  really  very  much  of 
a  protection  while  walking  about  in  the  sun. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

"Plenteous  in  mercy." 

TRAVELING  now  except  at  night  and  in  the 
early  mornings  is  impossible,  for  overhead  is  a 
scorching  sun  and  underneath  are  great  stretches 
of  blistering  sand  that  it  would  be  next  to  madness 
to  attempt  to  toil  over  while  it  is  in  this  condition. 
Ten  or  twelve  miles  a  day — or  rather  a  night — is 
the  best  they  can  now  accomplish,  even  with  their 
bravest  efforts.  At  some  places  they  find  that  the 
heat  daring  the  day  has  been  so  great  that  the  grass 
as  they  touch  it  crumbles  to  dust  iu  their  hands. 

But  the  nights  are  comparatively  cool,  and  during 
them,  at  least,  they  have  some  relief,  although  they 
have  to  provide  against  the  great  danger  of  taking 
cold. 

They  have  left  the  fertile  tract  where  they  have 
encamped  for  two  days  nearly  three  days'  journey 
behind  them,  and  there  is  still  no  sign  of  water. 
Lucky  for  them  that  they  have  brought  a  supply 
from  this  camping-place.  But  in  three  days  it  is  so 
nearly  run  out  that  there  is  now  only  a  limited  sup- 
ply for  the  people,  and  none  for  the  poor  dumb  toil- 

269 


270  CHILD  HE  S   OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

ing  brutes  whose  sufferings  it  is  alromly  licartrend- 
ing  to  witness. 

Another  day,  and  now  tlie  last  drop  in  the  eask  is 
exhausted,  and  peo})le  and  animals  are  alike  eon- 
fronted  by  the  fieree  tortures  of  maddening  thirst. 
Now,  indeed,  do  their  troubles  begin.  All  else  that 
has  gone  before  seems  as  a  mere  trifle.  The  two 
older  boys  and  Ellie  and  Hope  bear  up  bravely,  but 
it  is  especially  trying  to  the  children,  who  have  no 
such  fortitude  to  sustain  them.  The  pleading  of 
the  poor  little  baby  for  water  is  the  most  agonizing 
thing  they  have  to  endure. 

"  Oh,"  exclaims  Ellie,  clasping  her  hands  [)assion- 
ately  together,  *' I  remember  how  Dr.  Livingstone 
saw  his  wife  and  little  ones  in  just  such  sore  straits 
as  this,  and  how  fervently  he  prayed  f  )r  strength 
and  help.  It  seemed  at  first  as  if  God  had  indeed 
deserted  them.  Yet  at  last  help  came.  Oh,  surely, 
if  we  trust  him  he  will  hear  and  send  water." 

On  the  night  of  the  fourth  day  since  the  supply 
of  water  has  given  out  they  lay  them  down,  not  to 
sleep,  but  to  await  tiie  coming  of  the  morning  they 
long  yet  tremble  to  see.  And  why  this  strange 
contradiction  ?  Because  their  guides  have  told 
them  that  they  must  have  the  daylight  in  which 
to  find  water.  Of  these  guides  Cunnyngham  and 
Pierce  now  begin  to  entertain  serious  doubts.  But 
perhajis,  after  all,  the  men  may  not  be  to  blame. 
Such  things  have  happened  before,  even  with  the 
best  of  guides. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  271 

At  length  the  morning  dawns,  and  with  its  com- 
ing the  journey  is  again  resumed,  for  to  stay  where 
they  are  is  to  pci-ish,  wliilc  to  go  forward  may  also 
be  to  perish,  but  still  it  is  the  one  hope  that  is  left 
to  them. 

On  they  toil  silently  and  despairingly.  The 
poor  tortured  oxeu  do  little  more  than  stagger 
through  the  great  stretches  of  sand,  their  parched 
tongues  protruding  from  their  mouths.  The  horses 
and  cows  are  sutfcriug  even  more,  and  it  takes  all 
the  efforts  of  the  drivers,  themselves  in  a  pitiable 
condition,  to  urge  them  forward.  The  goats  stand 
it  very  well,  but  the  last  of  the  sheep  have  dropped 
by  the  way  the  evening  before.  At  length  the  poor 
cow  who  has  lost  her  calf  also  succumbs,  and  then 
one  of  the  calves  of  the  other  cows. 

Slowly  and  painfully  the  little  company  creeps 
onward,  hotter  and  hotter  grows  the  sun,  more  ter- 
rible the  thirst.  By  nine  o'clock,  in  the  shade  of 
the  wagon,  the  little  thermometer  that  Ellie  car- 
ries among  her  other  treasures  registers  110°. 
This  heat,  added  to  the  already  maddening  tor- 
tures of  thirst,  renders  their  condition  wellnigh 
insupportable.  To  add  to  the  other  misery,  Hope, 
Henrietta  and  the  little  Louise  show  unmistakable 
signs  of  having  beeu  attacked  by  that  dread  scourge 
of  African  travelers,  fever,  and  now  lie  moaning  in 
delirium. 

About  half-past  nine  o'clock,  Pitsaue,  who  is  in 
advance,  sees  what  he  at  first  thinks  is  a  lion  crouch- 


272  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

ing  iK'liiiid  ;i  line  of  scrubby  bu.shes  that  dot  the 
plain  sonu'  little  distance  ahead.  But  on  drawing 
nearer,  he  is  sur})rised  to  discover  that  it  is  a  Bush- 
•\vonian  in  a  bent  position,  and  evidently  trying  to 
creep  away  without  attracting  attention. 

As  soon  as  she  sees  that  she  is  discovered  she 
springs  up  and  endeavoi's  to  fly  beyond  Pitsane's 
grasp.  But  she  is  too  late,  for  he  has  seen  that 
about  her  body  that  has  lent  him  renewed  strength 
and  agility.  Ere  she  has  more  than  risen  from  her 
crouching  position  he  has  sprung  from  his  horse 
and  seized  her  by  the  shoulder,  at  the  same  time 
giving  her  to  understand  that  the  circle  of  ostrich- 
egg-shell  vessels  fastened  about  her  body  is  the 
only  thing  he  desires,  for  Avell  he  knows  the  pre- 
cious fluid  they  contain. 

But,  evidently,  the  woman  has  no  intention  of 
yielding  these  up  easily.  By  this  time,  the  wagon 
having  come  up  and  Pierce  and  Cunnyngham  catch- 
ing an  inkling  of  the  nature  of  the  encounter,  the 
M'omau  is  now  given  a  yard  or  two  of  bi'ight  cloth 
and  a  bunch  of  beads.  There  is  no  hesitancy  on 
her  part  after  this.  She  at  once  allows  the  pre- 
cious contents  of  her  shell  vessels  to  be  emptied 
into  one  of  the  casks  in  the  wagon,  jabbering  all 
the  while  in  the  most  abandoned  delight  over  her 
newly-acquired  treasures. 

There  is  no  need  to  describe  the  excessive  joy 
with  which  those  parched  lips  drink  of  the  old 
Bushwoman's  precious  store.     But,  alas!  their  joy 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  273 

is  sncltlenly  quenched  by  the  piteous  neighiugs  and 
bellowing.s  of"  the  poor  horses  and  cattle,  which,  hav- 
ing caught  a  scent  of  the  water,  are  now  sending 
fortli  the  most  heartrending  appeals. 

"Oh,  this  is  terrible!"  cries  Ellie,  covering  her 
ears  with  her  hands.  "Can  nothing  be  done?  Oh, 
I  feel  as  though  every  drop  of  that  water  l)urns  my 
throat.  See !  there  is  half  a  cask  left ;  take  it  and 
at  least  rinse  their  months." 

"  But,  my  dear  sister,"  protests  Pierce,  "  it  is  too 
valuable.  Think  how  much  more  precious  our 
lives  are  than  those  of  these  brutes  that  have  no 
souls.  My  own  heart  aches  for  them,  but  we  must 
let  reason  guide  us  in  this  matter." 

"  If  I  mistake  not,"  says  Cunnyngham,  "  this 
W'Oman  can  tell  us  where  we  may  find  a  small  sup- 
ply, at  least,  of  water.  Pitsane  is  of  the  o])inion 
that  her  vessels  have  not  been  many  hours  filled." 

At  first  the  woman  seems  very  reluctant  to  dis- 
close where  the  water  may  be  found.  But  after 
many  bribes  she  finally  consents  to  show  them 
where  the  water  is.  To  their  great  joy,  they  learn 
tliat  it  is  not  more  than  an  hour's  journey  distant. 

Turning  almost  directly  across  their  present  path, 
they  prepare  to  follow  the  old  Bush  woman.  It  is 
a  painful  and  toilsome  journey,  and  again  and 
again  it  seems  as  if  the  exhausted  oxen  must 
surely  give  out  ere  it  is  accomplished.  But  by 
persistent  efforts  on  the  part  of  their  drivers  they 
are  urged  along,  and  at  about  twenty  minutes  to 

18 


274  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

eleven  o'clock  come  to  a  staii^gering  halt  beside 
what  seems  to  be  a  little  wilderness  of  scrubby 
karroo-bushes  and  stunted  acacias. 

Finding  an  entrance  in  the  seemingly  impenetra- 
ble thicket,  the  Bushwoman  crawls  through,  fol- 
lowed by  Pitsane,  Pierce,  Cuiniyngham  and  Ma- 
zika.  In  the  centre  is  a  kind  of  cleared  spot,  and 
almost  the  entire  space  is  a  rocky  hollow  with  a 
heavy  accumulation  of  sand  at  the  bottom. 

Approaching  the  spot,  the  woman  arrauges  her 
vessels  in  a  cluster  at  her  right  side,  and  securing 
a  reed  al)out  three  feet  long  ties  a  bunch  of  grass 
to  one  end  of  it.  Then  with  her  hand  she  scoops 
out  the  sand  at  the  bottom  of  the  hollow  until  an 
opening  is  made  that  admits  her  arm  to  the  elbow. 
This  completed,  she  inserts  into  the  ()j)euing  the  end 
of  the  reed  that  is  bound  about  with  grass,  and  pro- 
ceeds to  pack  the  sand  about  it  until  the  orifice  is 
completely  filled.  Everything  being  now  appa- 
rently to  her  satisfaction,  she  places  her  mouth 
over  the  up])er  end  of  the  reed,  at  the  same  time 
inserting  a  straw  in  the  right  corner  of  her  mouth. 
This  straw  she  keeps  in  direct  comnmnication  with 
a  small  opening  in  the  top  of  the  egg-shell  vessel. 

As  she  draws  mouthful  after  mouthful  from  be- 
low, the  woman  empties  it  into  the  vessel  at  her 
side  by  means  of  the  straw,  which  guides  the  flow 
along  the  outside,  and  not  through  the  inside  as  some 
might  suppose. 

At  last  the  Bushwoman  has  her  vessels  filled, 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  275 

and  tlioy  arc  free  to  obtain  what  supply  they  can 
for  the  poor  siiifering  brutes. 

lu  three  hours  the  torturinf^  agony  of  each  dumb 
brute  is  relieved  by  a  cooling  draught  of  the  precious 
fluid.  Even  the  dogs  are  not  forgotten.  But  that 
it  has  taken  great  fortitude  and  tact  to  reach  a  suc- 
cessful accomplishment  through  so  harrowing  an 
ordeal  no  one  can  doubt.  Many  times  it  seems  as 
thouo-h  the  frantic  cattle  must  set  entirelv  bevoud 
their  control,  while  it  takes  all  Mazika's  powerful 
strength  and  agility  to  guard  the  opening  that  leads 
through  the  tangled  coppice  to  the  pool.  At  length 
all  is  finished,  and,  thoroughly  exhausted,  they  are 
glad  to  eat  without  the  least  complaining  the  supper 
of  bread  and  dried  game-flesh,  washed  down  with 
pure  cold  water. 

During  all  this  time  the  old  Bushwomau  has 
shown  no  disposition  to  take  her  departure,  but 
hangs  about  the  wagon,  taking  in  everything  with 
the  most  astonished  eyes.  They  wonder  greatly  at 
her  lingering  now  that  she  has  been  repeatedly 
assured  that  she  is  free  to  depart  at  any  time. 

"  I  think  she  is  afraid  that  we  will  follow  her," 
says  Pierce.  "  I  surmise  that  she  belongs  to  a  small 
company  of  her  people  who  have  hidden  themselves 
from  some  enemy.  She  does  not  know  but  that  we 
may  be  in  communication  with  the  foe  and  thus  dis- 
close their  hiding-place." 

That  night,  when  all  are  asleep  and  even  Pitsane, 
who  is  on  guard,  is  so  far  overcome  by  the  terrible 


276  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHART: 

trials  and  cxliaiistioiis  of  the  last  three  days  as  to 
sink  into  heavy  sluniher,  the  old  Bnshwonian  steals 
away,  whither  no  one  knows.  The  desert  may  have 
swallowed  her  up,  for  all  the  traee  she  leaves. 

As  the  symptoms  of  those  who  have  been  stricken 
with  the  fever  grow  more  alarming  on  the  follow- 
ing day,  our  weary  travelers  decide  to  remain  where 
they  are  for  the  next  two  or  three  days,  or  at  least 
until  there  is  a  more  favorable  turn  in  the  condition 
of  the  sick.  By  clearing  away  some  of  the  thick 
undergrowth,  enough  shade  is  procured  to  shelter 
the  animals  during  the  fierce  heat  of  the  day. 

AVhile  camping  at  this  spot  Cunnyngham  and 
Pierce  have  some  entertaining  experiences  with  a 
small  drove  of  ostriches,  and  through  them  learu 
many  interesting  things  of  this  gigantic  bird. 

Late  one  afternoon,  while  making  a  kind  of 
scouting-tour  in  a  circle  of  about  two  miles  from 
camp,  they  come  suddenly  upon  the  parent-birds 
and  a  happy  family  of  newly-fledged  young  os- 
triches that  are  concealed  by  a  large  sandbank. 
The  moment  the  birds  catch  sight  of  the  enemy 
they  take  to  flight,  but  not  rapidly,  because  of  the 
not  very  assured  movements  of  the  young  fledg- 
lings. As  it  is  the  first  time  the  two  youths  have 
ever  seen  the  newly-hatched  ostriches,  they  at  once 
start  in  pursuit,  determined  to  catch  one  or  two  of 
them  if  possible. 

Suddeidy  dismounting,  they  each  seize  one  of 
the  young  birds,  and  regain  their  horses  ere  the  male 

276 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  277 

parent  can  ])repare  for  the  attack,  which  would 
untloiibtedly  ensue  but  for  their  quick  movements. 
Tliey  decide  to  keep  the  two  young  ostriches  and 
see  if  tiicy  cannot  tame  them. 

"  At  any  rate,"  says  Cunnyngham,  "  I  feel  that 
we  will  have  no  trouble  in  finding  something  with 
which  to  feed  our  two  pets.  We  can  give  them  chaff, 
barley,  maize  and  an  occasioua^handful  of  cracked 
corn." 

On  being  introduced  into  the  coop  where  the 
fowls  are,  the  two  young  ostriches  show  unmistak- 
able signs  of  fear,  while  the  fowls,  on  their  part, 
give  vigorous  evidence  of  resenting  the  intrusion 
of  such  uncouth-looking  companions.  But  in  a 
little  while  all  is  amicably  adjusted,  and  at  the  end 
of  two  or  three  days  they  are  living  as  happily 
together  as  though  they  were  of  one  family. 

On  the  evening  of  the  sixth  day  after  stopping 
at  this  camping-place,  the  condition  of  the  fever 
patients  having  grown  more  favorable,  the  little 
caravan  is  again  set  in  motion. 

Another  long  and  dreary  waste  now  stretches 
before  them.  Two  days  and  three  nights  have 
passed  since  they  left  the  little  fountain  in  the 
acacia-thicket,  and  again,  as  before  that  place  was 
reached,  there  has  been  one  absolutely  waterless 
track,  destitute  of  signs  of  life,  with  the  exception 
of  now  and  then  a  crawling  deadly  serpent  or  a 
great  unwieldy  bird  of  prey. 

The  last  drop  of  water  is  now  exhausted,  and 


278  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI. 

still  there  is  no  sign  of  any  more  on  nil  this  dreary 
wiLste.  Thongli  sick  and  d('s])airing  at  iieart,  they 
nevertheless  prepare  themselves  to  face  with  what 
fortitude  they  can  a  repetition  of  those  terrible  ex- 
periences that  have  j)reeeded  their  coming  to  the 
little  fountain  in  the  tliieket. 

The  morning  of  the  fifth  day  finds  them  passing 
over  a  parched  andjdesolate  stretch  with  no  sign  of 
life  anywhere  visible,  and  with  a  pitiless  sun  beat- 
ing down  from  a  glaring  firmament.  Here,  in  one 
of  the  loneliest  and  dreariest  spots,  they  come  sud- 
denly upon  a  solitary  grave.  At  the  head  there  is  a 
rude  board  fashioned  in  the  form  of  a  cross.  The 
board  having  been  smoothed  on  one  side,  the  follow- 
ing inscription  is  cut  into  it  in  deep,  clear  letters  : 

"T.  C, 

Born  April  24,  1848. 

Died  Sept.  19,  18 7-. 

*God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner!'" 

"Oh!"  says  Ellie,  wiping  the  fast-falling  tears, 
"what  a  lonely  spot  to  die  and  be  buried  in  I 
And  yet,"  with  a  smile  that  beautifies  all  her  face, 
"God  can  be  here  as  well  as  elsewhere." 


CHAPTER   XX. 

"  He  will  hear  their  cry. " 

¥HEX  they  took  up  the  line  of  march  that 
evening  they  had  been  two  days  without 
water,  and  tlie  poor  brutes  three  days.  That  even- 
ing a  most  uneasy  suspicion  took  possession  of 
Cuunyngham.  It  was  of  the  Bushmen  guides — a 
doubt  as  to  their  knowledge  of  the  locality  in  which 
they  now  found  themselves.  Again  and  again  Cuu- 
nyngham questioned  the  guides  as  to  the  probabil- 
ity of  water  being  found  in  the  vicinity.  At  first 
they  had  seemed  truly  concerned,  and  answered 
these  anxious  questionings  by  the  assurance  that 
water  would  surely  be  come  upon  before  very  long; 
but  again,  on  being  pressed  in  regard  to  the  matter 
and  urged  to  do  their  best,  they  had  grown  sullen, 
and  finally  would  scarcely  answer  at  all  when  ad- 
dressed. 

It  was  these  things  that  had  combined  to  give 
Cuunyngliam  that  restless  and  uneasy  feeling  of 
w'hich,  with  all  his  efforts,  he  could  not  get  rid. 
How  well  grounded  were  these  fears  and  anticipa- 
tions was  shown  only  too  forcibly  when,  the  morn- 
ing having  come,  the  terrible  revelation  was  forced 

279 


280  cniLDRES   OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

upon  thcin  that  their  guides  had  deserted  during 
the  night.  With  the  direction  to  Jim  and  Mazika, 
who  were  at  that  moment  at  tlie  head  of  the  little 
company,  to  go  straight  forward  until  directed  other- 
wise, they  had  walked  back  toward  the  rear  of  the 
wagon . 

Tiiat  was  the  last  ever  seen  of  them.  One  thing, 
however,  only  too  forcii)ly  appeared,  and  that  was, 
that  the  absconding  guides  had  taken  good  care  to 
})rovide  most  liberally  for  themselves  at  the  expense 
of  our  young  travelers,  one  of  the  best  guns,  an  axe, 
a  supply  of  ammunition,  two  l)lanket.s,  some  beads 
and  cloth,  a  quantity  of  ship's  bread  and  two  of  the 
goats  being  taken  off  among  other  things. 

Abandoned  thus  by  their  treacherous  guides,  our 
friends  now  find  themselves  in  the  midst  of  the 
wild  and  almost  trackless  desert  with  no  knowledge 
whatever  of  the  course  before  them,  and,  to  add 
more  acutely  to  the  horrors  of  the  situation,  suffer- 
ing agonies  from  thirst. 

The  terrible  day  draws  on  toward  its  close,  the 
evening  is  approaching,  the  time  at  which  the  march 
is  generally  resumed,  but  there  seems  literally  not 
strength  enough  left  to  the  suffering  brutes  for 
them  to  make  even  the  effort  to  start.  The  men, 
too,  appear  to  have  lost  all  their  spirit  and  to  be 
utterly  regardless  of  the  consequences  of  their  inac- 
tion. 

"My  God,  this  is  terrible!"  cries  Cunnyngham, 
"  If  we  do  not  move  off  from   this  place  we  will 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  281 

surely  die  here ! — Pitsane,  Jim,  my  good  fellows, 
why  do  you  not  yoke  the  oxen  ?" 

"  Hab  tried,  massa,"  is  the  Kaffir's  reply,  but  iu 
a  way  that  is  altogether  a  contrast  to  his  usual  ani- 
mated movements,  "  but  with  all  de  beatin'  me  only 
get  t'ree  ob  urn  to  'im  feet." 

"  Oh,  try  again,  my  good  fellows,  try  again  !  We 
must  be  on  the  move.     It  is — " 

But  at  this  moment  a  voice  in  agonized  supplica- 
tion falls  upon  his  ears.  It  is  Ellie,  who  with 
clasped  hands  and  streaming  eyes  is  beseeching  suc- 
cor of  Him  who  has  promised  to  hear  even  the 
ravens  when  they  cry. 

"  Our  Father  God,"  entreats  the  young  girl  with 
burning  lips,  "  hear  us  now  when  we  cry  to  thee. 
Send  help,  O  God,  for  Jesus'  sake  !  Behold,  we 
are  utterly  dependent  upon  thy  will ;  our  very 
breath  is  in  thy  hands.  O  God,  behold  our  suf- 
fering and  pity  us.  Oh,  it  cannot,  cannot  be  that 
thou  hast  forgotten  us,  that  thine  eyes  are  veiled  to 
our  distresses  !  Remember,  O  God,  thy  servant, 
our  father,  who  out  of  his  love  and  zeal  for  thee 
served  thee  long  and  faithfully.  Oh,  for  sake  of 
him,  thy  faithful  servant,  hearken  now  unto  the 
cries  of  these  his  children  in  the  hour  of  their  sorest 
distress.  O  God,  hear!  hear  !  pity,  pity,  and  save! 
— save  for  Jesus'  sake  !" 

Utterly  exhausted,  the  young  girl  falls  back  upon 
her  pallet  in  the  wagon,  and  with  closed  eyes  and 
bated  breath  lies  like  one  Avho  is  dead. 


282  CHILDRES  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

But  see!  what  is  this  which,  even  as  the  last  de- 
spairino;  words  dvop  from  the  tortured  lips,  begins 
to  outline  itself"  along  the  distant  horizon?  A 
floating  bit  of  cloud  no  larger  than  the  skirt  of  an 
infant's  robe.  Then  another  and  another  come  to 
keep  it  company,  until  at  last  a  great  mantle  thick 
and  murky  is  spread  across  the  face  of  the  descend- 
ing sun. 

"  Rain  !  rain  !"  shouts  Pierce.  "Oh,  thank  God, 
it  is  going  to  rain  ! — Pitsane  !  Kamati !  Jim  !  arouse 
yourselves,  my  good  fellows,  and  put  the  casks  1o 
catch  the  precious  fluid.  And  come,  let  us  tid<c  the 
spades  and  scoop  out  hollows  to  catch  some  of  it  for 
the  poor  brutes." 

There  is  uow  do  longer  any  sign  of  listlessness. 
The  casks  are  placed  so  that  they  can  be  guarded 
from  any  sudden  rush  toward  them  on  the  part  of 
the  thirst-maddened  brutes,  while  a  firm,  hard  bot- 
tom is  made  for  the  hollows  the  workers  soon  have 
scooped  out. 

These  details  are  barely  accomplished  and  the 
little  camp  put  in  the  best  shape  it  can  to  receive 
the  threatening  tempest,  when  forth  from  the  angry 
clouds  leap  livid  flames  of  lightning  and  deafening 
peals  of  thiuider  roll  overhead.  Suddenly  the  very 
floodgates  of  heaven  seem  opened,  and  forth  with  a 
rush  and  a  roar  the  blinding,  imj)etuous,  yet  life- 
giving,  torrents  descend.  They  pour  upon  the 
parched  sands  of  the  desert,  that  lick  them  up 
with  greedy  tongues,  into  the  recesses  of  the  water- 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  283 

casks,  where  their  uoisy  fall  sounds  like  the  sweet- 
est music  to  the  strained  ears  that  listen,  and  upon 
the  cattle  themselves,  cooling  tiieir  burning  coats 
and  soothing  the  tortures  of  cracked  and  swollen 
tongues.  With  what  bellowings  of  joy  they  rise 
up  to  meet  it,  and  throw  out  their  heads,  and  lap 
it  in  with  their  tongues,  and  roll  over  and  over  in 
the  pools  it  forms  beneath  them  as  though  they 
could  never  get  enough ! 

For  nearly  two  hours  the  torrents  pour,  followed 
near  the  close  by  a  heavy  fall  of  hail.  Then  almost 
as  suddenly  as  it  came  the  force  of  the  tempest 
abates.  In  a  little  while  hail  and  rain  have  both 
ceased  altogether,  and  now  there  is  a  damp,  raw 
chill  in  the  air,  which  is  quickly  followed  by  an 
atmosphere  of  such  intense  cold  that  our  travelers 
feel  at  once  that  they  must  by  some  means  procure 
a  fire.  There  are  many  damp  things  to  be  dried, 
and  others,  again,  that  are  soaked  through  and 
through ;  for  although  the  two  thick  coverings  of 
the  wagon  have  kept  everything  within  the  vehicle 
comparatively  dry,  yet  much  of  the  bedding  and 
many  of  the  belongings  of  those  who  sleep  in  the 
little  drop  tents  at  the  side  of  the  wagon  have 
become  so  wet  that  it  would  be  dangerous  to  at- 
tempt to  sleep  on  them  ere  they  are  dried.  But 
where  are  they  to  obtain  the  fuel  for  a  fire  ?  As 
far  as  the  eye  can  reach  there  is  absolutely  no  sign 
of  vegetation,  not  even  a  twig  of  any  kind. 

The  night   has  now  come   on.     All  around  the 


284  VllILDREN  OF  TlIK  KALAHARI: 

desert  lies  in  solitary  vastness,  nothing  hut  stretch 
after  stretcli  of  desolate  sand,  with  no  stir,  no 
warmth,  no  promise  of  anytliing  pleasant  any- 
where visible. 

Finding  it  simply  impossible  to  obtain  fuel  of 
any  kind  on  this  barren  spot,  they  at  first  arrive  at 
the  conclusion  to  huddle  together  as  best  they  can 
and  brave  it  out  till  morning.  But  as  the  atmo- 
sphere grows  colder  and  colder  every  moment,  after 
a  time  assuming  a  degree  of  temperature  that  makes 
their  teeth  chatter  forcibly  together  and  their  whole 
bodies  to  feel  as  though  the  very  marrow  in  their 
bones  is  freezing,  they  unanimously  decide  to  inspau 
and  move  on  until  they  come  to  fuel  of  some  kind. 

All  hands  fall  to  work  with  what  alacrity  they 
can  to  prepare  for  the  move.  The  yoking  is  ac- 
complished, and  the  party  once  more  sets  out 
bravely  across  the  desolate  plain. 

For  four  hours  they  struggle  courageously  on- 
ward through  the  cold  and  in  the  face  of  a  biting 
wind  that  has  now  sprung  up.  Again  and  again  it 
seems  as  if  they  must  give  up  and  fall  by  the  way, 
for,  added  to  the  other  perils,  a  great  drowsiness  has 
now  seized  uj^on  almost  every  member  of  the  party, 
and  it  takes  their  bravest  efforts  to  keep  themselves 
from  falling  asleep.  It  is,  as  they  realize  only  too 
sensibly,  the  fatal  drowsiness  that  precedes  the  last 
sleep  of  those  overcome  by  cold. 

There  has  been  at  first  only  the  light  of  the  stars 
to  guide  them,  but  after  a  while  the  moon  comes  up. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  285 

All  is  as  bright  now  as  day,  and  to  their  great  joy 
they  soon  after  espy  the  straggling  outlines  of  a 
small  stretch  of  scrubby  bushes.  They  succeed  in 
cutting  several  of  the  larger,  tree-like  bushes,  and 
having  found  also  a  quantity  of  dried  twigs,  they 
manage  to  keep  up  a  cheery  blaze  throughout  the 
night.  Not  only  are  chilled  bones  newly  invigor- 
ated, but  the  bed-clothes  and  other  saturated  articles 
are  thoroughly  dried. 

Despite  the  intense  chill  of  the  preceding  night, 
the  next  day  shines  out  bright  and  warm.  After 
the  morniug  meal  is  over  and  preparations  are 
made  for  passing  the  day  at  this  spot,  a  consulta- 
tion is  entered  into  respecting  their  future  course. 
Abandoned  as  they  have  been  by  their  treacherous 
guides  in  the  midst  of  one  of  the  most  cheerless  and 
desolate  parts  of  the  inhospitable  desert,  trying 
indeed  is  the  prospect  that  stretches  before  them. 

"I  am  of  the  opinion,"  says  Cunnyngham,  "that 
our  safest  course  at  present  is  to  try  to  find  some 
spot  where  there  is  water,  and  where  ^ve  can  also 
secure  some  protection  against  the  heat  of  the  sun, 
and  construct  a  temporary  abode.  It  is  now  the 
first  of  November,  and  the  annual  rains,  I  doubt 
not,  have  already  set  in  upon  the  country  below, 
and  we  may  confidently  expect  our  portion  of 
them  here  in  the  desert  by  the  last  of  the  mouth. 
If,  then,  we  can  find  some  place  where,  compara- 
tively sheltered,  we  may  pass  the  months  of  the 
rainy  season,  we  can  then  resume  our  journey  across 


286  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

the  desert  with  one  liorror  less  to  confront  us,  the 
horror  of  thirst,  for  there  will  be  ten  pools  of 
water — nay,  twenty — then  where  there  is  but  one 
now.  There  will  be  also  the  reasonable  hope  of 
coming  every  now  and  then  upon  a  pateh  of  water- 
melons, with  which  li<iuid  fruit  I  have  heard  certain 
parts  of  the  desert  abound  after  the  annual  rains. 
In  the  interval,  by  means  of  the  compass  and 
through  other  aids,  we  can  gain  some  knowledge 
of  our  whereabouts  and  of  our  future  course.  We 
know  that  the  country  of  the  Makololo  is  almost 
due  north  from  the  Kalahari.  Alas !  I  had  hoped 
we  should  have  reached  it  at  least  two  weeks  ago, 
but  God  has  disposed  otherwise.  Besides,"  he  con- 
tinues, taking  up  his  old  line  of  thought,  "  if  we 
can  establish  ourselves  at  some  temporary  camping- 
place,  there  is  the  possibility  of  our  abode  being 
chanced  upon  by  some  one  of  the  many  stray 
parties  of  Bushmen  who  are  constantly  wander- 
ing over  the  desert." 

"  Further,"  says  Pierce  in  a  voice  of  concern, 
"  there  is  something  else  that  appeals  most  strongly 
for  the  coui^se  you  suggest.  Hope,  Henrietta  and 
Louise  have  been  now  nearly  two  weeks  sick  with 
the  fever,  while  Ellie,  I  fear,  is  also  about  to  take 
it.  Mamochisane,  I  think,  has  it  already,  and  this 
morning  I  noticed  some  very  unfavorable  symp- 
toms in  Marvin.  If  we  push  on  with  them  to 
the  river-country  in  this  condition,  it  will  be  al- 
most certain   death  for  some  of  them.     We  still 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  287 

have  three  axes  and  seven  pairs  of  good  strong 
arms  left.  If  only  we  can  find  any  sort  of  a 
showing  for  timber,  wc  can  assuredly  erect  a  ser- 
viceable shelter." 

"  But  have  we  sufficient  pravisions  for  such  a 
step  ?"  questions  Cunnyngham  after  a  moment  of 
sober  reflection.  "  I  had  not  thougiit  of  this  when 
I  proposed  the  plan." 

"  We  have  some  flour  and  a  little  meal  yet," 
returns  Pierce.  "  Then  there  are  the  maize  and 
some  of  the  pumpkins  and  a  few  of  the  potatoes 
and  beans  we  obtained  from  the  Bakalalmri.  And 
I  heard  Ellie  say  only  yesterday  we  had  enough 
dried  meat  to  last  us  at  least  two  weeks,  with 
double  the  quantity  of  ship's  biscuit.  I  doubt 
not  but  that  we  can  occasionally  kill  some  game, 
and  there  is  the  chance  of  finding  some  spot  to 
plant  seed  and  have  a  little  garden.  But  come 
now  and  let  us  go  and  consult  with  Pitsane  and 
Mazika." 

The  two  sagacious  blacks  fully  concur  in  the 
opinion  of  their  young  friends,  and  when  they 
set  off'  from  their  camping-place  at  sundown  that 
evening  it  is  with  the  understood  determination  to 
seek  a  favorable  spot  for  their  abode  during  the 
next  four  or  five  mouths. 


CHAPTER   XXIT. 

"AH  Tliy  creatures  magnify  Thee." 

THEY  have  now  a  two  days'  supply  of  water  for 
themselves  and  one  and  a  half  days'  supply 
for  the  animals,  so  that  it  is  with  cheerful  hearts 
that  they  set  forth  once  more  across  the  barren 
plain. 

Just  at  suurise  the  next  raorniug,  as  they  are  pass- 
ing over  an  unusually  inviting  grassy  stretch,  they 
are  much  startled  by  suddenly  catching  sight  of 
what  seems  to  them  the  outlines  of  a  village  drawn 
directly  across  the  horizon.  With  hearts  that  in- 
crease in  gi-atitude  every  moment  they  now  ])ress 
forward  toward  the  village.  But  on  coming  with- 
in hailing  distance  of  it  they  are  greatly  surprised 
to  see  no  sign  whatever  of  human  life. 

"  Well,  it  is  queer !"  ejaculates  Pierce,  his  face 
showing  plainly  all  the  perplexity  he  feels. 

A  light  seems  suddenly  to  break  upon  Cunnyng- 
hani,  at  the  same  time  that  an  amused  little  laugh 
escapes  Pitsane,  while  Mazika  nods  his  head  know- 
ingly. 

"It  is  an  ant-village,"  says  Cunnyngham  joining 
in  Pitsane's  laugh.  "  How  silly  of  us  not  to  have 
discovered  it  sooner !" 

288 


A   STORY  OF  AFRICA.  289 

"  Aut-villao;es  fool  many  travelers  far  older  than 
my  white  father's  children,"  says  Mazika.  "Fool 
even  great  Zulu  warrior,  Dingaan,  who  one  day 
rushed  upon  one  with  his  men,  flinging  right  and 
left  the  assegai,  and  thinking  he  had  surely  this 
time  eauglit  the  enemy  asleep." 

"I  wonder  if  any  of  the  creatures  are  inside?" 
observes  Cunnyngham. 

"  I  have  a  notion  to  see,"  declares  Pierce,  and  he 
knocks  oif  with  tlie  butt  of  his  rifle  the  top  of  one 
of  the  conical-shaped  turrets.  Immediately  a  great 
flat  head,  followed  by  an  elongated  body  about  the 
size  of  an  overgrown  grain  of  rice,  aj)pears  above 
the  opening. 

Suddenly  it  disappears  for  a  few  moments,  and 
when  it  returns  again  it  is  followed  by  several 
scores  of  its  companions,  who  come  pouring  out 
of  the  opening. 

Directly  they  begin  disappearing  and  reappear- 
ing, and  on  drawing  nearer  the  curiosity  of  the  be- 
holders is  still  more  excited  to  see  them  brino-ing 
from  tlie  interior  a  substance  resembling  chiy.  It 
is  brought  and  laid  on,  mouthful  after  moutliful, 
with  all  tlie  skill  and  exactness  of  a  practiced 
mason. 

They  travel  until  about  ten  o'clock  that  morning, 
then,  finding  another  belt  of  scrubby  forest-growth, 
rest  within  the  scant  shade  it  affords  until  six 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  when  the  line  of  march  is 
again  resumed. 

19 


290  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

Tliere  is  iis  yet  no  sigu  of  water,  and  u.s  the 
night  advances  their  march  is  continually  disturbed 
by  the  roars  and  cries  of  various  wild  animals. 
But  all  this  they  endure  with  unshaken  fortitude 
until  a  fierce  tiger,  suddenly  springing  directly  iu 
their  midst,  des})atches  one  of  the  oxen.  The  tiger 
is  finally  killed,  but  the  adventure  so  excites  tiieni 
that,  after  a  consultation,  they  decide  to  stop  for 
the  remainder  of  the  night. 

Four  or  five  large  fires  are  now  kindled,  forming 
a  kind  of  circle  with  the  wagon  in  the  centre. 
The  male  members  of  the  little  caravan,  with  the 
exception  of  Marvin,  take  it  iu  turn  to  watch  and 
to  keep  up  the  supply  of  fuel  for  the  fires. 

No  accident  befalls  their  camp  that  night,  and 
by  daylight  they  have  breakfasted,  inspanned  and 
are  ready  for  the  start. 

After  leaving  the  little  strip  of  forest  behind 
they  enter  upon  another  stretch  of  treeless  plain. 
But  with  increasing  hope  they  notice  that  the  grass 
that  covers  it  is  very  thick  and  vigorous.  After  a 
consultation  they  decide  to  stop  here  for  an  hour 
at  least  and  give  the  hungry  and  jaded  horses  and 
cattle  an  opportunity  for  grazing. 

The  sun  is  a  little  more  than  an  hour  high  when 
the  march  is  resumed,  and  all  at  once  they  catch 
sight  of  a  line  of  forest  directly  across  their  path. 
The  desert  is  yet  all  about  them,  but  as  they  pro- 
gress it  becomes  less  like  a  desert  and  more  like  a 
fertile  savanna. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  291 

A  little  shout  from  Pitsane,  M'ho  is  loading  the 
company,  attracts  the  attention  of  Cuunyngham  and 
Pierce,  and  on  going  forward  they  soon  learn  that 
he  has  suddenly  come  upon  a  well-braten  "  spoor," 
or  track,  that  leads  in  the  direction  of  what  they 
can  now  see  plainly  is  quite  an  opening  in  the 
forest. 

The  nearer  they  draw  to  the  belt  of  woods  the 
broader  and  more  firmly  trampled  becomes  the 
spoor.  Where  it  opens  into  the  shrubbery  it  is 
quite  wide  enough  easily  to  admit  the  oxen  and 
wagon. 

They  seem  now  to  be  gradually  descending,  while 
more  and  more  frequently  occur  upheavals  of  rock. 
At  length,  in  the  very  centre  of  a  basin-like  forma- 
tion, they  come  somewhat  suddenly  upon  a  large, 
clear  pool  of  water. 

"We  could  not  have  found  a  more  delightful 
spot  if  we  had  searched  the  whole  country  for  it," 
declares  Cuunyngham,  gazing  enthusiastically  about 
him.—"  What  says  Mazika?" 

"  Mazika  too  is  pleased  with  everything  but 
one." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"  INIazika  likes  not  the  look  of  these  great  tracks 
about  the  pool.  Many  great  animals  come  here  to 
drink — the  lion,  the  tiger  and  the  elephant.  Mazika 
likes  not  the  thought  of  the  abode  of  the  good 
father's  children  and  of  himself  being  so  near  the 
resort  of  creatures  so  fierce  and  so  cruel." 


21(2  L'lllLDRES  OF  THE  KALAHARI. 

About  four  o'clock  this  afternoon  Cunuyngham 
and  Mazika,  wlio  have  been  out  about  three  hours 
prospecting,  return  to  camp  very  much  elated  at 
being  able  to  report  that  they  have,  about  a  mile 
farther  on,  come  upon  another  jwol  of  water. 

The  travelers  have  barely  time  to  reach  the  re- 
cently-discovered j)ool  and  make  a  few  prci)arati()ns 
for  the  night  wiien  the  darkness  closes  in  about 
them.  Not  until  morning  have  they  the  op])or- 
tuuity  to  judge  to  any  extent  what  manner  of  a 
place  is  this  one  which  is  likely  to  prove  their 
home  for  the  next  five  or  six  months. 

The  little  sheet  of  water  is  not  more  than  four 
feet  wide  at  its  greatest  width  and  about  a  foot  and 
a  half  deep  at  its  greatest  depth.  On  three  sides 
it  is  nearly  choked  with  rank-growing  rushes,  ferns 
and  with  a  peculiar  reddish-colored  grass  that  at- 
tracts Cunnyngham's  eyes  at  once. 

"  Unless  I  am  very  much  mistaken,  this  is  an 
almost  certain  indication  of  water  underneath — at 
least  so  Dr.  Livingstone  generally  found  it." 

This  conjecture  proves  correct,  and  in  three  days 
more,  by  constant  work,  they  have  a  steady  flow 
of  water  that  soon  fills  the  deep  basin  they  have  ex- 
cavated to  overflowing,  and  begins  to  trickle  its  way 
down  into  the  2:or<re. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

"The  wilderness  liatli  shut  them  in." 

THE  spot  selected  upon  which  to  erect  their  tem- 
porary home  is  at  the  summit  of  a  gently-slop- 
ing decline.  In  the  rear  it  is  shut  in  by  a  natural 
wall  of  precipitous  rock  that  to\vers  full  forty  or 
fifty  feet  above  it.  An  examination  of  this  wall  on 
the  reverse  side  reveals  the  fact  that  the  top  of  it  is 
totally  inaccessible  to  either  man  or  beast,  while 
from  the  side  next  the  encampment  it  can  be  reached 
by  a  series  of  shelf-like  projections  that  form  a  kind 
of  natural  stairway.  They  are  thus  completely  pro- 
tected from  an  attack  in  that  direction. 

Stretching  away  from  the  face  of  this  rocky  wall 
is  a  park-like  expanse  of  straight-stemmed  and 
dark-foliaged  timber-trees,  with  here  and  there  a 
widespreading  Ficus  indica,  the  real  banian,  and 
clumps  of  the  beautiful  white-thorned  mimosa. 
About  the  "  drop-shoots "  of  the  banians  many 
brilliant  vines  have  entwined  themselves,  the  rich 
coloring  of  their  pendent  blossoms  gleaming  like 
globes  of  flame.  High  into  space  the  majestic 
branches  of  an  occasional  "  iron  "  tree  flino;  them- 
selves,  or  the  silvery  outlines  of  a   sycamore  are 

293 


294  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

tlirown  into  relief  against  a  picturesque  tangle  of 
evergreen  thorns.  As  to  the  undergrowth,  there  is 
not  much  of  it,  save  now  and  then  a  stretch  of 
berry-yielding  shrubs,  a  cluster  of  wild  sage,  a 
clump  of  dwarf  fig-bushes,  and  an  occasional  cactus 
that  beai"s  a  crimson  flower  and  stands  in  some  places 
from  eight  to  ten  feet  high.  From  many  of  the 
branches  of  the  trees,  especially  from  the  acacias, 
spring  bright  clusters  of  a  parasite  resembling  the 
mistletoe,  and,  like  the  mistletoe,  bewaring  bei-ries  of 
a  waxy  texture ;  only,  unlike  the  mistletoe,  the  berries 
are  of  a  rich  creamy  yellow. 

The  soft  cooing  of  the  doves,  the  merry  trills  and 
pipes  of  many  sweet-singing  birds  as  they  flit  from 
tree  to  tree  or  peep  shyly  forth  from  the  (juaint  and 
curiously-constructed  nests  that  adorn  the  boughs, 
lend  a  life  and  charm  to  the  already  pleasant  scene 
that  render  it  delightful  beyond  description  to  the 
worn  and  weary  travelers,  and  give  them  a  feeling 
of  such  tranquil  happiness  and  sweet  serenity  as 
they  have  not  felt  since  setting  out  upon  their  long 
and  trying  journey.  After  their  tortuous  wander- 
ings through  the  desert  it  is  like  a  glimpse  of  some 
other  world. 

As  she  is  raised  up  for  a  sight  of  it  a  beautiful 
smile  breaks  over  Hope's  wan  face,  while  with 
clasped  hands  she  exclaims,  "  Oh,  how  good  God  is 
to  have  brought  us  here  !  It  would  not  be  so  hard 
to  die  in  a  place  like  this." 

"Do  not  talk  of  dying,  dear,"  remonstrates  EUie, 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  295 

while  unconsciously  a  shudder  passes  over  her.  For 
the  first  time  a  dreadful  thouglit  presents  itself — a 
thought  that  has  beeu  called  into  suddeu  being  as 
she  notes  now  more  plainly  than  she  has  ever  done  be- 
fore the  extreme  pallor  and  emaciation  of  her  cousin's 
appearance.  Suppose  that  Hope  should  die,  after 
all  ?  But  oh  no,  no,  no  !  she  will  not  think  of  it. 
Surely,  surely,  God  will  not  be  so  cruel  as  that! 
But  the  next  moment  at  this  impotent  outcry 
against  the  INIaker  who  gave  life,  and  who  alone 
has  the  right  to  claim  it,  the  young  girl  stands 
aghast,  and,  clasping  her  hands  tremblingly  to- 
gether, beseeches  pardon  of  Him  who  is  ever  ready 
to  grant  it  to  the  honestly  penitent : 

"  O  God,  forgive  me,  for  I  knew  not  what  I  said. 
But,  O  Father,  spare  her  life !  Do  not  take  it  from 
us,  for  oh  it  is  so  jirecious  !" 

The  condition  of  some  of  those  who  have  been 
attacked  by  the  fever  has  changed  very  much  for 
the  better  since  their  arrival  at  this  pleasant  place, 
while  in  others,  again,  there  has  been  no  material 
improvement  that  can  be  seen.  Henrietta  is  very 
much  better ;  in  fact,  almost  well.  Ellie  and 
Marvin  too,  who  have  had  only  a  slight  attack, 
are  now  almost  recovered,  thanks  to  liberal  doses 
of  quinine  administered  in  time.  But  Hope,  Baby 
Louise  and  poor  old  Mamochisane  are  still  very 
sick.  At  present  Hope's  condition  gives  them  more 
cause  for  anxiety  than  either  of  the  others,  for  with 
her  youth  and  usual  vitality  they  have  expected  to 


296  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

see  her  make  a  miicli  more  vigorous  effort  to  rally 
from  the  dread  effects  of  the  fever.  As  it  is,  how- 
ever, she  seems  gradually  to  have  sunk  into  a  state 
of  extreme  listlessness  and  exhaustion  from  which 
nothing  ap])ears  to  arouse  her. 

The  condition  of  little  Louise  also  gives  them 
much  cause  for  alarm,  as  violent  chills  have  now 
succeeded  the  fever,  with  some  symptoms  that 
Pierce  fears  threaten  pneumonia,  caused,  he  feels 
assured,  by  the  sudden  change  in  the  temperature 
following  upon  the  rain-and-hail-storm  that  had 
overtaken  them  in  the  desert.  Mamoehisane  too 
is  similarly  affected.  The  brave  and  persevering 
young  amateur  physician  is  (piite  sanguine  of  the 
ultimate  recovery  of  all,  provided  they  are  not  sub- 
jected to  any  unusual  exposure  or  sudden  change 
in  the  weather.  Pierce,  Cininyngham,  Pitsane  and 
!Mazika  have  all  likewise  had  a  touch  of  the  fever, 
but  not  enough  completely  to  prostrate  any  one  of 
them,  and  from  which,  by  liberal  doses  of  quinine, 
they  have  by  now  entirely  recovered. 

While  awaiting  the  proper  seasoning  of  the  tim- 
ber for  their  pro]>osed  abode  a  temporary  shelter  of 
poles  covered  with  the  branches  of  trees  has  been 
erected,  under  which  the  wagon  is  driven,  the  "whole 
being  protected  by  a  palisade  of  stones  and  tiioru- 
bushes,  sufficient  in  its  extent  to  enclose  also  the 
cattle  at  niglit.  At  the  beginning  of  the  third  week 
everything  is  in  shape  for  the  raising  of  the  frame- 
work of  the  new  abode. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  297 

Their  first  step  is  to  mark  ofF  on  the  ground,  close 
under  shelter  of  the  stone  wall,  a  circle  of  about 
twenty-five  feet  in  diameter.  Around  the  circum- 
ference at  short  intervals  are  placed  stout,  flexible 
poles.  Another  pole,  much  stouter  and  stronger 
than  any  of  the  others,  is  now  erected  exactly  in 
the  centre  of  the  circle.  The  tops  of  the  other 
poles  are  carefully  drawn  together  and  fastened  to 
this,  one  by  one,  by  means  of  stout  thongs  of  the 
quagga's  hide.  This  satisfactorily  accomplished, 
their  next  step  is  to  bind  about  this  stout  frame- 
work of  poles  with  the  same  strong  ligatures  an 
encircling  line  of  pliant  young  saplings  at  regular 
intervals  from  bottom  to  top. 

The  frame  of  their  building  is  now  complete, 
and  looks,  as  Pierce  laughingly  declares,  like  noth- 
ing so  much  as  a  great,  overgrown  bee-gum.  But 
Cunnyngham  tells  him  that  his  laughing  will  soon 
be  changed  to  admiration  when  he  sees  how 
nice  it  will  appear  when  finally  shajDcd  and  cov- 
ered. 

Their  next  step  is  to  surround  the  structure  with 
a  trench  a  foot  and  a  half  deep,  and  so  constructed 
that  in  case  of  a  heavy  rain  it  will  drain  the  water 
away  from  the  dwelling.  As  an  extra  precautiou, 
however,  against  the  entrance  of  the  water  a  circu- 
lar wall  of  stone  is  built  around  the  lower  part  of 
the  structure.  This  wall,  which  is  about  four  feet  in 
height,  is  a  most  creditable  piece  of  workmanship, 
and  to  complete  it  it  has  been  necessary  to  make 


298  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

two  trips  with  the  wagon  and  oxen  to  the  deserted 
ant-village  some  ei<:;ht  or  nine  miles  away.  The 
material  of  these  ant-heaps  forms,  when  sprinkled 
M'ith  water,  a  strong  and  adhesive  mortar.  They 
secnre  enongh  of  this  mortar  to  lay  also  a  floor  for 
their  cabin,  which  proves,  after  it  has  been  thor- 
oughly kneaded  and  trampled  down  and  allowed 
to  dry,  as  smooth  and  solid  as  though  formed  of 
stone. 

"  I  don't  think  there  is  any  danger  now  of  our 
suffering  from  a  flooded  cabin,"  declares  Cunnyng- 
ham  enthusiastically  as  he  surveys  the  work.  "  I 
don't  believe  we  shall  be  troubled  even  by  dauip- 
ness,  especially  when  m'c  get  the  roof  plastered." 

They  now  begin  the  covering  of  the  hut.  Thick 
layers  of  reeds  are  put  on  as  closely  interwoven  as 
possible,  and  to  make  the  arrangements  even  more 
coin])lete  our  travelers  determine  to  jilaster  the  en- 
tire interior.  The  only  openings  that  have  been  left 
are  the  spaces  for  a  door  and  three  small  windows. 

Some  frames  are  next  coustrueted  for  the  M'indows, 
which  they  have  taken  care  to  leave  some  seven  or 
eight  feet  above  the  ground.  Over  each  of  these 
frames  a  thin  cotton  cloth  is  tightly  stretched,  which 
is  subsequently  smeared  with  a  compotnid  made  of 
beeswax,  a  little  tallow  and  pure  gum  arai)ic  from 
tlie  acacia  trees.  Outside  shutters  of  }>]aid<  are  con- 
structed to  })rotect  these  at  night,  during  heavy  rains 
and  in  case  of  an  attack.  The  abode  is  now  con- 
sidered complete,  and  with  thankful  and  joyful  hearts 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  299 

they  take  possession  of  it  at  the  end  of  the  fifteenth 
day  since  beginning  its  erection.  But,  though  the 
dwelling  is  in  itself  finished,  their  arrangements  are 
by  no  means  so,  for  there  are  the  shelters  for 
the  horses  and  cattle  and  for  the  wagon,  some 
kind  of  a  place  to  do  their  cooking,  and  the  pali- 
sade to  enclose  and  protect  the  whole. 

In  ten  days  more  these  various  details  are  com- 
pleted. The  horses,  cows,  oxen,  and  even  the  goats, 
have  now  quite  comfortable  quarters,  the  wagon  is 
under  cover  and  the  palisade  that  encloses  the  whole 
is  as  formidal)le  as  large  stones  and  sharp  thorn- 
bushes  can  make  it.  The  best  arrangement  they 
can  devise  for  cooking  is  between  two  ledges  in  the 
rock-wall,  where  the  ovens  and  other  utensils  can 
be  set  back  into  a  kind  of  cavity  above  which  there 
is  an  opening  for  the  smoke  to  penetrate.  A  shel- 
ter made  of  stout  poles  and  thick  reeds  gives  the 
cook  protection  against  the  weather.  TJiis  latter 
duty  has  had  at  first,  owing  to  Mamocliisane's  con- 
tinued illness  and  Ellie's  and  Hope's  prostration 
from  the  fever,  to  fall  upon  Pitsane.  But,  Ellie  hav- 
ing now  recovered  and  Jim's  hand  having  healed, 
the  latter  is  permanently  installed  in  that  capacity 
with  the  former  to  direct  and  give  him  such  aid  as 
she  can. 

The  outward  arrangements  finally  completed, 
Pierce  and  Pitsane  set  about  the  interior  appoint- 
ment of  the  abode,  while  Cunnyngham,  Mazika  and 
Kamati  search  out  and  prepare  a  suitable  spot  for 


300  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

a  garden.  Pierce,  with  ritsane's  aid,  first  proceeds 
to  ]iartition  off  into  three  ai)artiiK'iit.s  the  interior 
space  of  the  cabin.  Two  of  these  apartments  are 
half  circular  in  shape,  the  other  and  lander  one  is 
somewiiat  oval.  The  two  former  are  intended  as 
sleeping-rooms,  the  other  as  a  general  sitting-room. 
The  partitions  separating  them  run  only  about  half- 
way up,  and  are  formed  of  a  network  of  light,  slen- 
der poles  ingeniously  covered  over  with  the  stiff 
fronds  of  various  fan-]ialms  fastened  into  place  by 
means  of  a  strong  and  durable  rush  that  is  rendered 
quite  pliable  by  being  dij>ped  in  water.  Before  the 
entrance  of  each  apartment  is  hung  a  curtain  of  cloth 
that  can  be  lifted  or  dropped  at  ])leasure. 

These  partitions  satisfactorily  completed,  Pierce's 
next  step  is  to  procure  several  strong,  straight  poles. 
Taking  four  of  these  poles,  cut  to  five  feet  in  length, 
and  placing  them  in  an  ujiright  ])osit ion,  he  proceeds 
to  fasten  between  them  light,  strong  side-pieces  of 
the  same  material.  With  a  small  auger  he  next  bores 
holes  at  regular  intervals  along  the  side-pieces,  and, 
this  completed,  constructs  from  one  to  the  other  a 
strong  clastic  network  formed  of  thongs  of  antelope- 
hide  interlaced.  He  has  now  as  durable  and  com- 
fortable a  bedstead  as  any  one;  could  desire. 

Three  of  these  he  constructs — one  for  Cunnyng- 
ham,  Marvin  and  himself,  and  the  other  two  for 
the  girls'  room.  As  to  Mazika,  Pitsane,  Kamati 
and  Jim,  they  vastly  prefer  their  pile  of  skins  com- 
fortably arranged  in  one  corner  of  the  youths'  apart- 


A   STOEY  OF  AFRICA.  301 

ment ;  that  is,  Katnati,  Pitsane  and  Jim  sleep  there, 
Mazika  choosing  to  establish  himself  in  the  outer 
apartment  and  directly  across  the  main  entrance, 
the  door  of  which  has  to  be  left  open  on  mild 
nights  in  order  to  secure  sufficient  ventilation.  The 
windows  are  also  left  open  at  such  times.  As  they 
have  taken  care  to  perforate  their  door  with  number- 
less auger-holes,  and  have  fitted  a  piece,  transom- 
like, above  it,  this  gives  them  sufficnent  ventila- 
tion on  other  occasions.  But  often  and  often  the 
weather  is  so  warm  as  to  cause  more  than  one  of 
the  male  inmates  to  seek  the  outside  of  the  cabin, 
where,  throwing  a  skin  rug  under  the  branches, 
they  pass  the  remainder  of  the  night.  Much  secur- 
ity is  lent  them  on  these  occasions  by  the  thought 
of  the  stout  barricade  they  have  erected  around 
them. 

By  way  of  furnishing  his  and  Cunnyngham's 
bed,  Pierce  contents  himself  with  numerous  soft 
skins  and  two  good  blankets,  but  for  the  beds 
for  the  girls'  room  he  makes  two  most  comfortable 
mattresses  out  of  ticks  of  canvas  cloth,  stuifed  with 
the  soft  down  obtained  from  certain  large  decayed 
flowering  bulbs. 

A  lounge  of  olive-wood,  with  bottom  of  inter- 
laced antelope-hide  and  cushions  that  are  also  stuffed 
with  the  silky  fibre  obtained  from  the  flower-bulbs, 
is  now  constructed  for  the  general  sitting-room,  and 
proves  a  source  of  much  comfort  and  pleasure  to  the 
sick  who  are  convalescing.    With  hammer,  plane  and 


302  CHILDREN  OF  TEE  KALAHARI. 

nails  a  table  is  next  formed  with  the  top  made  of  two 
wide  planks  cut  from  a  large  "yellow-wood"  tree, 
the  sawing,  trimming  and  planing  of  which  have  been 
quite  a  feat  on  the  part  of  both  Pierce  and  Pitsane. 
Two  small  stands  are  similarly  constructed  for  the 
holding  of  various  small  articles  and  for  Elbe's  sew- 
ing material ;  then  four  or  five  stools,  and  lastly  an 
arm-chair  with  seat  and  back  upholstered  in  leopard- 
skin  and  arms  of  beautifully  twisted  eland-horns, 
which,  taken  all  together.  Pierce  considers  his  chef 
d'oeuvre. 

With  a  shelf  or  two  for  the  books,  brackets  for 
the  guns  picturesquely  formed  of  antelope-horns, 
and  a  half  dozen  or  so  of  tawny  leopard,  lion  and 
tiger-skins  placed  like  rugs  about  the  apartment, 
the  whole  preseuts  a  cheerful  and  homelike  picture, 
all  the  more  so  when  contrasted  with  their  savage 
surroundings. 

All  the  sick,  with  the  exception  of  Mamochisane, 
are  now  very  much  better,  Hope  especially  so.  It 
does  not  seem  to  be  the  fever  now  that  is  so  much 
the  matter  with  old  Mamochisane  as  a  complication 
of  things  that  completely  baffles  Pierce,  despite  the 
very  creditable  knowledge  he  has  of  medicine. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"He  giveth  alike  seed-time  and  harvest." 

THREE  months  have  now  passed  away  since  the 
coming  of  our  travelers  to  this  oasis-like  spot 
in  the  desert.  They  have  had  many  sore  trials, 
chief  among  them  the  loss  of  all  the  horses  but 
one,  Khiva,  the  present  of  Captain  Murray  to  their 
father,  a  cow  and  two  of  the  calves  and  two  of  the 
donkeys,  among  the  hitter  Hope's  faithful  and  affec- 
tionate Chumah.  They  have  all  died  of  that  fatal 
disease  known  among  African  farmers  as  "lung 
sickness "  or  "  lung  fever,"  brought  on  by  the 
numerous  hardships  of  their  trying  journey  across 
tlie  desert,  the  exposure  to  the  fierce  rays  of  the  sun, 
to  the  night-airs  and  dews,  and  lastly  to  that  terri- 
ble rain-and-hail  storm  with  the  sudden  fall  of  tem- 
perature succeeding  it.  Only  unremitting  attention 
and  care  in  stabling  them  and  the  timely  administer- 
ing of  certain  remedies  save  the  other  brutes.  As 
to  the  oxen,  fortunately  for  our  travelers,  they  have 
all  had  this  dread  sickness,  and  hence  from  one  at- 
tack have  secured  immunity  from  another.  What  is 
more,  they  have  all  been,  in  the  language  of  the  Cape 
cattle-dealers,  "  inoculated  "  against  it.     This  form 

303 


304  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

of  inoculation  consists  in  cutting  a  slit  in  the  tall  of 
the  oxen  and  introdueing  therein  a  ])ieee  of  the  dis- 
eased lung  of  an  animal  that  has  died  from  the 
sickness.  The  result  is  that  the  ox  thus  inoculated 
takes  the  disease  iu  a  mild  form,  which  causes  a 
portion  of  its  tail  to  drop  off,  and  it  thus  heeomes 
proof  against  future  attack. 

Several  members  of  the  little  party  have  also 
suffered  from  ophthalmia,  a  disease  of  the  eyes 
brought  on  through  exposure  to  the  glaring  rays  of 
the  sun.  Fortunately  for  our  travelers,  Pierce  has 
had  considerable  exj)erience  with  the  disease  under 
his  father's  instructions,  so  that  in  each  of  the  pres- 
ent cases  he  is  enabled  to  bring  the  patient  around 
all  right. 

Another  trial  has  also  been  theirs.  The  stock 
of  provisions  with  which  they  left  Lepelole  has 
long  since  given  out,  save  small  quantities  of 
sugar,  coffee  and  tea,  a  half-can  of  ship's  biscuit 
and  a  little  jelly;  which  delicacies  Ellie  guards 
with  jealous  care  for  those  who  are  sick.  As  to  the 
others,  they  have  had  for  the  past  six  weeks  to 
depend  almost  entirely  lipon  the  products  of  the 
forest — fruits,  nuts,  berries  and  the  like — and  upon 
such  game  as  they  are  able  either  to  slay  with  the 
gun  or  to  entrap. 

They  have  at  first  been  put  to  considerable  trou- 
ble in  finding  a  spot  quite  suitable  for  their  garden. 
But  they  finally  settle  upon  a  kind  of  valley  lying 
along  the  river-bed.     Four  acres  are  selected,  staked 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  305 

out  and  cleared.  In  the  "  patch  "  beans,  peas  and 
other  garden  vegetables,  the  cassava,  groundnuts, 
kaffir  corn  and  the  like,  are  successfully  sown,  and 
iu  due  season,  by  proper  care  and  atteutii)n,  brought 
to  a  satisfactory  yielding. 

One  afternoon  old  Karaati  finds  a  rich  store  of 
honey  deposited  by  a  colony  of  wild  bees  iu  the 
clefts  of  some  rocks.  He  is  led  to  the  honey 
through  his  attention  having  at  first  been  attracted 
by  the  piercing  notes  of  a  houey-bird,  which  he  at 
length  follows,  with  the  result  of  finding  a  large 
and  delicious  supply  of  honey — nearly  three  gallons 
iu  all  when  strained. 

The  only  necessary  article  they  really  lack  is  salt. 
For  some  little  time  after  the  giving  out  of  the  sup- 
ply with  which  they  have  started  they  are  at  a  com- 
plete loss  to  know  what  to  do.  At  length  Pierce 
and  Pitsane  come  to  the  rescue  by  proposing  to  go 
in  search  of  one  of  the  many  salt-pans  with  which 
the  Kalahari  is  known  to  abound. 

One  is  at  length  found  some  fifteen  or  sixteen 
miles  north  of  them,  which  the  discoverers  report 
to  have  about  its  margin  and  for  a  consider- 
able distance  down  a  solid  cake  of  salt  quite  two 
inches  in  thickness.  The  wagon  and  oxen  are  now 
sent  to  convey  to  the  camp  cuttings  from  this  saline 
incrustation.  In  a  few  days  more,  by  dint  of  much 
patience  and  care  and  by  various  processes  of  boil- 
ing, straining  and  evaporation,  they  have  an  article 
which,  if  it  is  not  as  white  and  attractive-looking 

20 


306  CniLDJiEN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

as  the  salt  known  to  civilized  commerce,  i.s  never- 
less  quite  equal  to  it  in  suliuo  properties. 

It  is  now  the  middle  of  Fctbruury  and  the  rains 
have  set  in  again,  for  during  the  mouths  of  Decem- 
ber and  January  there  has  been  a  comparatively  dry 
season. 

Once  or  twice  during  these  months  our  friends 
have  thought  quite  seriously  of  abandoning  their 
home  in  the  wilderness  and  of  starting  once 
more  upon  the  arduous  journey  across  the  plains. 
But  four  things,  each  one  in  itself  of  sufficient 
moment,  have  deterred  them :  the  insufficiency 
of  food  at  their  command,  the  condition  of  the 
sick,  their  knowledge  that  should  they  start  at 
this  season  they  would  miss  the  crops  of  water- 
melons upon  which  they  have  been  depending,  and 
lastly  that  they  would  in  all  probability  find  the 
M'ater-pools  dried  off  again,  for  beyond  one  or  two 
heavy  showei'S  the  fall  of  rain  up  to  this  time  has 
been  comparatively  light.  They  have  thus,  all 
things  being  taken  into  consideration,  returned 
to  their  old  decision  of  waiting  until  the  heavier 
rains  of  February,  March  and  April  have  fallen. 
By  that  time  their  crops  M'ill  be  gathered  and  the 
sick  doubtless  sufficiently  recovered  to  travel. 

They  have  now  had  an  ample  opportunity 
of  testing  the  waterproof  quality  of  their  abode. 
The  hardness  of  the  rushes  and  other  substances 
forming  the  thatch,  the  closeness  of  their  weft 
and  the   coating  of  plastering  underlying  all,  are 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  307 

siicli  that  no  drop  of  rain  finds  entrance  throngli 
the  roof.  The  only  trouble  is  at  the  junction  of  the 
rushes  and  palm  mats  with  the  stone  wall.  Here 
the  rain,  running  down  from  the  roof,  trickles 
through  in  a  way  that  is  at  times  most  unpleasant. 
However,  this  is  soon  remedied  by  an  outside  circle 
of  poles  to  winch  the  roofing  is  extended. 

Pierce  has  also  added  to  the  general  arrangements 
for  Ellie's  comfort  and  convenience  in  rainy  weather 
a  pavement  that  leads  from  the  door  of  the  abode  to 
the  cooking-shed.  This  pavement,  which  is  of 
palm-nuts  firmly  fixed  together  by  an  undercoating 
of  mortar,  is  not  only  an  ingenious  piece  of  work, 
but  quite  a  pretty  one  as  well.  After  it  has  become 
hardened  and  been  walked  on  for  some  time  it  ac- 
quires the  smoothness  and  lustre  of  polished  metal. 

More  than  once  they  have  had  a  severe  storm  of 
wind  and  rain,  accompanied  by  startling  flashes  of 
lightning,  in  which  several  trees  of  tlie  forest  have 
been  uprooted  or  struck  by  the  electrical  current. 
But  they  are  securely  protected  by  the  wall  of  rock 
that  towers  like  a  fortress  behind  them.  Once  or 
twice  they  have  also  witnessed  from  the  summit  of 
this  rocky  wall,  which  has  now  grown  to  be  quite 
a  favorite  post  of  outlook  with  them,  the  approach 
of  one  of  those  dread  sand-storms  against  which 
old  Shobo  has  warned  them.  How  thankful  they 
are  at  this  moment  that  they  have  this  rock  and 
the  forest  surrounding  it  for  protection  !  Thankful 
are  they  also  that  the  cattle  are  at  the  time  feed- 


308  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAIIART: 

iug  along  the  bed  of  the  dried  water-course,  and 
not  on  the  phains. 

As  to  the  wild  animals,  they  seem  to  have  a  pre- 
monition of  what  is  coming  even  before  the  sand- 
clouds  appear,  and  rush  in  terrur-stricken  groups, 
some  of  them  with  tiie  swiftness  of  the  wind,  to 
the  shelter  of  the  woods.  In  consequence,  many 
of  them  come  dashing  right  by  the  enclosure, 
where  a  few  well-directed  shots  bring  to  the  earth 
two  large  fine  bucks,  a  buffalo  and  a  giraffe. 

One  of  these  wild,  frightened  creatures,  a  young 
zebra,  unheeding  the  stone  wall  that  surrounds  the 
camp,  dashes  against  it  with  such  violence  as  to 
crush  in  his  skull  completely,  instantly  dying  from 
the  effects  of  the  blow.  The  flesh  of  this  animal, 
however,  is  of  little  value  to  them,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  one  or  two  portions,  on  account  of  a  strong, 
unpleasant  flavor ;  but  they  preserve  the  skin,  which 
comes  in  well  for  various  uses. 

The  days  now  speed  haj)pily  and  ])lcasantly  by, 
despite  the  fact  that  they  are  passed  in  this  lonely 
and  desolate  waste  far  from  the  haunts  of  men.  The 
hours  of  dayligiit,  whether  rainy  or  sunshiny,  are 
taken  up  with  occupation  of  some  kind,  either  in 
work  about  the  encampment  or  in  the  fields,  in  the 
procuring  of  supplies  from  forest  and  plain  or  in 
some  preparation  for  the  renewal  of  their  journey 
across  the  desert.  In  the  evenings,  when  their 
frugal  supper  is  over,  they  gather  in  the  larger 
apartment,  where   the  time,   until  ten   o'clock,  is 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  309 

pleasantly  passed  in  reading,  talking,  laying  plans 
for  the  future,  and  occasionally,  for  the  benefit  of 
the  younger  ones,  in  games  and  pastimes.  Some- 
times Ellie  and  Hope,  for  the  entertainment  of  the 
others,  read  aloud  from  the  little  stock  of  books, 
or  Pierce  and  Cunnyngham  relate  some  interest- 
ing incident  that  has  befallen  them  in  a  recent 
trip  about  the  forest  or  out  on  the  plains,  or  Ma- 
zika  or  Pitsane  is  coaxed  into  the  interesting  role 
of  story-teller. 

Sometimes  to  the  pleasant  diversions  of  the  even- 
ing the  two  pets,  the  monkey  and  the  parrot,  lend 
an  animated  digression  by  originating  some  amazing 
episode,  greatly  to  the  edification  of  their  respective 
owners,  each  of  whom  has  now  come  to  look  upon 
his  or  hers  as  in  every  way  the  very  smartest  and 
most  promising  of  its  kind. 

The  parrot,  Colo,  has  now  learned  to  talk  in  very 
creditable  English,  greatly  to  the  satisfaction  of  his 
young  master.  But  the  monkey,  Jock,  now  thor- 
oughly tamed  and  as  hearty  and  strong  as  he  can  well 
be,  proves  the  source  of  much  more  real  amusement 
and  interest;  for  he  is  an  unusually  intelligent  lit- 
tle animal  and  has  acquired  quite  a  number  of  tricks. 
He  has,  besides,  shown  himself  very  valuable  in 
the  alertness  with  which  he  guards  the  approach 
to  the  abode,  having  in  one  or  two  instances  proved 
a  better  sentinel  even  than  the  dogs.  Once  he  has 
warned  them  of  the  ap[)roaeh  of  a  leopard  that  has 
effected  an  entrance  through  a  weak  spot  in  the  pali- 


310  CHILDREN  OF   TUK  KALMIMll: 

sade.  Since  tliat  time  thcv  have  all  slept  soundly 
and  tranrjiiilly,  swiire  in  the  belief  that  Jock  will 
not  fail  to  warn  them  in  time  of  any  threatening 
danger. 

If  there  is  one  thing  of  which  Jock  is  particu- 
larly fond,  it  is  to  be  allowed  to  go  hunting  with 
Pierce,  Pitsaue  and  the  dogs.  Immediately  when 
he  can  detect  any  prejmrations  for  an  expedition 
of  this  kind  he  will  show  the  greatest  joy.  If 
allowed  to  join  the  party,  he  evinces  his  satisfac- 
tion and  delight  by  the  wildest  caperings;  if  for- 
bidden, he  will  at  once  liide  himself  in  some  dark 
corner  and  mope  and  sulk,  sometimes  through  an 
entire  day. 

One  of  Jock's  favorite  pastimes  on  these  expe- 
ditions is  to  climb  into  the  trees  and  seek  for  gum 
and  nuts  of  various  kinds,  of  the  former  of  which 
he  is  particularly  fond,  and  over  which  he  works 
his  jaws  with  all  the  abandon  of  a  school-girl  of 
the  present  day  with  her  cakes  of  taify-tolu. 

Although  quite  brave  in  some  respects,  there 
are  nevertheless  two  things,  in  addition  to  being 
left  alone  in  the  desert,  of  which  Jock  stands  in 
great  dread.  If  he  but  catches  sight  of  a  ser- 
pent of  any  kind,  he  w'ill  shake  as  though  with  an 
ague,  and,  uttering  a  series  of  piercing  cries,  will  at 
once  creep  as  far  as  possible  out  of  sight.  An(»ther 
great  dread  that  he  cherishes  is  of  his  own  species, 
for,  strange  to  say,  now  that  he  has  grown  thor- 
oughly domesticated,  Jock  seems  to  have  entirely 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  311 

forgotten  liis  old  iKUints  and  companions.  Some- 
times, therefore,  when  lie  hears  the  cries  of  other 
apes  in  the  woods,  although  they  seem  to  terrify 
him  considerably,  he  will  yet  answer  them,  for  this 
much  of  the  old  instinct  seems  to  have  remained. 
But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  they  approach  him,  he 
will  at  once  fly,  overcome  with  terror  and  uttering 
hideous  cries.  Never  stopping  until  he  has  reached 
the  house,  he  will  there  creep  between  the  feet  of 
one  of  the  inmates  and  cower,  shaking  with  fright. 
It  always  requires  a  day  or  two  for  him  to  recover 
from  the  shock. 

However  pleasing  he  may  be  otherwise,  there  is 
yet  one  trait  in  Jock's  character  that  considerably 
troubles  his  friends.  Jock  will  steal.  Like  the 
majority  of  his  species,  he  seems  to  think  that  any- 
thing he  may  desire  is  his  by  right  of  coming  upon 
it,  and  sometimes  when  not  coming  upon  it,  but  by 
searching  it  out.  He  seems  fully  to  understand  the 
art  of  unloosing  the  strings  of  a  basket  or  other 
receptacle  where  something  to  eat  has  been  stored, 
especially  if  it  is  something  of  which  he  is  particu- 
larly fond.  And  there  is  no  counting  the  times 
that  he  has  stolen  milk  from  the  jars  and  pans  after 
it  has  been  strained  and  set  away.  Once  or  twice 
both  Cunnyugham  and  Pierce  have  undertaken  to 
chastise  him  for  these  thefts,  but  beyond  keeping 
out  of  their  sight  for  a  day  or  two  and  scowling  at 
them  most  vigorously  when  he  does  come  in  sight 
of  them  or  they  of  him,  no  effect  is  produced. 


312  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALMIMlf: 

Anotlur  depredation  of  wliich  lie  is  guilty  is 
roi)bin<j:  the  liens'  nests.  At  first,  when  the  eggs 
begin  to  he  missed,  Ellie  aiunot  believe  that  it  is 
really  Joek  who  makes  way  with  them.  But  ou 
learning  of  the  disapjiea ranee  of  the  eggs,  Pierce, 
who  has  suspicious  of  his  own  and  some  ground 
for  them,  as  he  thinks,  determines  to  institute  a 
"watch. 

At  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  there  come, 
shrill  and  prolonged,  the  sounds  of  the  first  hen's 
cackle.  Jock,  who  has  been  perched  in  the  branches 
of  a  mimosa,  ajiparently  sound  asleep,  is  now  seen 
suddenly  to  leap  down  and  start  in  the  direction 
of  the  fowl-yard  as  fast  as  he  can  g«).  Disappear- 
ing within  the  enclosure,  he  soon  reappears  with  an 
egg  in  his  mouth,  and  is  making  oil'  with  it  to  a 
secluded  corner  where  he  can  without  molestation 
enjoy  its  contents,  when  just  at  this  moment  Pierce 
apj)ears  upon  the  scene. 

"Oh  yes,  you  grand  rogue,  I  have  caught  you 
now  !"  he  exclaims  as  he  starts  toward  him. 

The  words  are  scarcely  out  when  Jock  suddenly 
stops,  and,  assuming  a  careless  position,  appears  the 
very  picture  of  injured  innocence.  His  look  says 
as  plainly  as  a  look  could  say,  "  It  surely  can't  be 
me,  now,  of  whom  you  are  speaking  as  a  rogue?" 

The  next  moment  he  has  placed  the  egg  at  Pierce's 
feet  with  another  look,  which  again  says  as  ])lainly 
as  the  words  could,  "  Thai  is  the  place  to  which  I 
intended   from  the  first  to  bring  the  egg." 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  313 

But  Pierce  isn't  at  all  taken  in  by  this  hypocrit- 
ical performance,  although  Jock  flatters  himself  that 
he  is.  Ketu ruing  to  his  watch,  Pierce  this  time 
waits  until  Jock  has  gained  his  corner,  where,  com- 
ing upon  him  in  the  very  act  of  devouring  the  egg, 
and  a  further  hypocritical  display  of  innocence 
being  out  of  the  question,  the  cunning  thief  is  ou 
the  spot  given  such  a  sound  thrashing  as  he  surely 
deserves. 

But  this  beating,  like  all  the  others  that  have 
preceded  it,  having  no  effect,  the  eggs  continuing 
to  disappear  as  regularly  as  ever,  and  all  attempts 
to  shut  him  away  from  the  nests  proving  unavail- 
ing. Pierce  finally  decides  to  resort  to  the  novel 
expedient  of  training  one  of  the  dogs — a  fine  Eng- 
lish pointer  that  has  been  a  present  from  Captain 
Muri-ay  to  his  father — to  keep  a  watch  upon  the 
hens'  nests  and  to  bring  the  eggs  to  some  one  at 
the  house  as  soon  as  they  are  laid. 

In  a  few  days'  time  the  dog  has  learned  his  les- 
son so  well  that  he  scarcely  ever  fails  to  come  with 
the  egg  as  soon  as  the  hen  has  laid  it.  For  the 
first  three  or  four  days  Jock  stands  aside,  an  amazed 
spectator  of  this  new  arrangement  of  affairs,  and 
then  a  most  remarkable  contest  takes  place  of  which 
no  one  has  even  thought,  much  less  expected.  Jock 
now  also  establishes  himself  just  without  the  enclo- 
sure and  close  beside  the  dog,  where  he  lies  stretched 
out,  apparently  as  sound  asleep  as  the  dog  seems  to 
be ;  but  if  any  one  were  noting  closely  he  could  see 


314  CHILDIiEN   UF  THE  KALAHARI: 

very  ])]:iiiily  that  his  wicked  little  eyes  arc  far  from 
beiiii;  closed. 

The  inument  a  hen  cackles,  up  s])ring  both  auiinals, 
when  a  most  exciting  race  ejisues  in  the  direction  of 
tiie  nest.  Sometimes  the  dog  reaches  it  first,  and 
sometimes  it  is  tiie  monkey;  but  whichever  it  is, 
a  fierce  contest  as  to  who  shall  have  the  egg  takes 
place,  unless  the  dog  can  manage  to  elude  the 
monkey,  which  he  occasionally  does. 

Whenever  the  dog  succeeds  in  gaining  tlu;  vic- 
tory he  at  once  runs  joyfully  to  the  house  with  the 
egg  held  carefully  in  his  mouth.  Nearly  always  on 
occasions  of  this  kind  Jock,  being  unable  to  con- 
ceal his  chagrin  at  the  defeat,  will  follow  after, 
grumbling  all  the  way  and  making  threatening 
grimaces.  Sometimes  the  moidcey  will  keep  close 
beside  him  until  the  egg  is  deposited  at  the  feet 
or  in  the  lap  of  some  one,  when  the  hyi)()critical 
little  animal  will  appear  to  be  greatly  delighted 
at  its  safe  delivery. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  Jock  succeeds  in  getting 
the  egg,  he  will  at  once  run  with  it  to  the  boughs 
of  a  neighboring  tree  or  to  an  elevated  perch  near  at 
hand,  where,  having  devoured  it,  he  tosses  the  shell 
at  his  adversary  as  though  to  make  game  of  him. 

Every  expedient  exhausted  without  any  salutary 
effect,  they  have  finally  to  resort  to  tying  Jock  dur- 
ing the  day,  or  at  least  through  such  a  part  of  it  as 
it  takes  to  secure  the  eggs. 

Tlie  other  pets,  the  young  ostriches,  have  by  tiiis 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  315 

time  grown  so  rapidly  tliat  our  young  people  are 
already  beginning  to  entertain  serious  misgivings  as 
to  the  feasibility  of  taking  tlicm  farther  upon  their 
journey.  They  are  now  too  large  to  be  carried  in  a 
coop,  and  it  is  not  to  be  expected  that  they  will  fol- 
low regularly,  while  to  drive  them  will  involve  more 
care  and  attention  than  the  travelers  are  capable  of 
giving  with  the  other  duties  on  hand.  It  is  there- 
fore feared  that  when  the  caravan  starts  once  more 
upon  its  journey  the  ostriches  will  have  to  be  turned 
loose  on  the  plain. 

As  for  the  dogs,  with  but  one  exception,  they  have 
all  by  this  time  grown  to  treat  Smike  with  much 
friendly  consideration  and  to  welcome  him  to  all 
their  gambols  and  feasts.  This  single  exception, 
it  is  needless  to  add,  is  Master  Chitane,  who  still 
holds  out  as  the  ugly,  stubborn  dog  in  the  face  of 
many  really  humiliating  advances  on  the  part  of 
the  peaceful  and  generous  Smike.  But  at  last  there 
comes  a  day,  as  generally  happens  in  cases  of  this 
kind,  when  the  hearty  and  overwhelming  return 
of  srood  for  evil  arouses  the  better  side  of  even 
this  mean  little  dog-nature. 

One  morning,  when  at  some  little  distance  away 
from  the  camp,  Chitane,  through  some  of  his  high- 
and-mighty  ways,  so  offends  two  of  the  larger  dogs 
that,  not  having  any  very  great  amount  of  friendly 
feeling  for  him  to  begin  with,  they  forthwith  set 
upon  him  and  give  him  such  a  drubbing  as  he  has 
never  known  before,  and  doubtless  never  will  again. 


31G  t'lULDREy   OF  THE  KALAILXRI: 

Just  as  there  has  been  a  short  hill  in  the  attack, 
ami  the  dogs  are  on  the  point  of  setting  upon  Chi- 
tane  again  with  a  view  to  completing  the  lesson, 
Sniike  makes  his  appearance,  and  at  once,  without 
seeming  to  stop  to  consider  the  danger  he  may  him- 
self invite,  rashes  into  the  midst  of  the  combatants. 

In  a  little  while  he  has  so  separated  them  that 
he  is  standing  before  the  beaten  and  cowed  Chitane 
with  his  body  interposed,  so  that  he  completely 
shelters  that  of  the  now  thoroughly  used-up  aud 
frightened  poodle. 

Recognizing  that  it  is  Smike's  brave  determina- 
tion  to  save  the  life  of  his  former  little  tormentor 
even  at  the  risk  of  his  own,  and  not  wishing  to 
injure  the  courageous  fellow  for  so  insignificant  a 
cause  as  Chitane,  the  other  dogs  now  withdraw  and 
leave  them  alone. 

Chitane  is  so  badly  bruised  and  bitten  that  it  is 
with  great  difliculty  he  can  take  even  a  few  steps. 
Seeing  how  it  is,  and  not  wishing  to  leave  the  poor 
little  beggar  out  upon  the  plain  or  to  crawl  home 
as  best  he  can  in  his  present  condition,  Sniike  forth- 
with picks  him  up  in  his  mouth  by  his  long  wool 
and  trots  off  to  camp  with  him.  The  victory  over 
the  surly-tempered  little  poodle  is  from  this  day 
complete. 

But,  brave  and  generous  as  is  this  act,  Smike 
becomes  the  hero  of  another  even  braver ;  and  in 
consideration  of  the  cause  in  which  his  life  is  this 
time   risked   he  endears  himself  a  hundred   times 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  317 

more  to  all  iu  the  camp,  who  never  cease  to  bless 
the  day  that  they  have  brought  him  from  the  Bush- 
men village. 

One  very  hot  afternoon,  Hope,  who  by  this  time 
has  almost  entirely  recovered,  takes  a  leopard-skin 
rug  and  a  book  to  the  shade  of  a  mimosa  tree  in  a 
distant  part  of  the  enclosure. 

At  length,  overcome  by  drowsiness,  she  falls 
asleep,  and  an  hour  or  so  later  Cunnyngham,  who 
happens  to  be  passing  by  the  spot,  is  overcome  with 
horror  at  the  sight  he  sees. 

The  young  girl  is  lying  asleep,  one  arm  under 
her  head,  the  other  thrown  some  little  distance  from 
lier,  while  coiled  up  between  the  extended  arm  and 
her  breast  is  a  huge  cobra,  or  hooded  snake,  with  its 
venomous  head  raised  ready  to  strike  at  her  throat. 
Cunnyngham  looks  about  him  for  some  Aveapon  with 
M'hich  to  attack  the  deadly  creature.  But  another 
pair  of  eyes  has  caught  sight  of  the  young  girl's 
peril  almost  at  the  same  moment  that  Cuunyng- 
ham  has  discovered  it. 

As  usual  when  he  is  about  the  encampment, 
Smike  has  followed  Hope,  and  as  she  has  lain 
down  upon  the  rug  beneath  the  tree  he  has  stretched 
himself  near  at  hand.  Like  Hope,  he  has  been 
overcome  with  drowsiness,  but  now  he  suddenly 
awakens,  with  a  quick,  somewhat  spasmodic  drop- 
ping apart  of  his  great  eyelids,  just  at  the  moment 
that  the  cobra  has  darted  its  head  upward  from 
its  coils. 


318  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI. 

In  an  instant  Smike  seems  to  realize  tlie  danger, 
and  almost  in  the  same  instant  has  sprung  forward 
to  avert  it.  The  snake  is  in  front  of  him,  the  back 
of  its  head  toward  him.  Just  as  the  venomous  fangs 
are  on  the  point  of  being  buried  in  the  young  girl's 
white  throat,  Smike's  long,  sharp  teeth  have  seized 
the  reptile  just  below  the  horribly  dilating  hood  with 
a  grasp  that  I  do  not  believe  death  itself  could  make 
him  relax.  The  next  moment  he  has  dashed  the 
snake  against  a  tree  with  such  violence  that  it  never 
moves  again  after  striking  the  ground. 

That  the  brave  fellbw  has  now  paid  his  debt  in 
full  for  every  kind  w'ord,  for  every  gentle  pat,  for 
every  good  meal — of  which  there  have  been  many 
— no  one  will  question.  Even  the  ugly  bruise  that 
Hope  has  so  long  borne  for  him  ujron  her  arm 
finds  its  more  than  eloquent  requital  in  the  carcass 
of  the  mangled  snake  from  whose  deadly  fangs  his 
teeth  have  saved  her. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

"Consecrated,  Lord,  to  thee." 

THE  middle  of  Marcli  finds  our  little  baud  in 
quite  a  distressed  frame  of  miud.  It  is  uow 
known  that  old  Mamochisane  cannot  live,  while 
the  little  Louise,  whom  they  had  been  thinking 
for  some  time  previously  out  of  danger,  has  now 
taken  a  relapse  and  grown  alarmiugly  worse. 

The  old  black  woman's  many  ailments  have 
finally  culminated  in  the  only  too  surely  fatal  dis- 
ease— consumption.  As  it  seems  to  be  of  the  rapid 
kind.  Pierce  has  told  them  that  her  death  is  uow 
only  a  question  of  a  few  days  at  best. 

At  last,  about  eleven  o'clock  at  night  dnring 
the  first  week  of  April,  they  are  all  gathered  to 
witness  what  with  sorrowing  hearts  they  feel  is 
old  Mamochisane's  last  hour  on  earth. 

She  is  fully  conscious,  and,  though  scarcely  able 
to  speak  above  a  whisper,  yet  answers  all  their 
questions  rationally  and  in  her  native  tongue, 
which  she  seems  now  to  speak  with  far  less  dif- 
ficulty than  the  broken  English  she  has  acquired. 

"Are  you  afraid  to  die,  Mamochisane?"   Ellie 

319 


320  CHILDREN  OF  THE   KALAHARI: 

questions  just  a  little  anxiously  as  slic  bends  with 
tear-wet  eyes  above  her. 

"  No,  niissie — no  more  afruiil  tiian  to  go  along 
the  broad  white  path  at  Lepelole  to  the  great 
spring  where  the  waters  gurgle  and  where  the  suu 
shines  all  the  day  through.  Once,"  continues  the 
black  woman  after  a  moment's  pause,  "Mamochisaue 
was  all  afraid,  for  then  it  was  everywhere  dark — 
dark  as  a  night  when  no  star  shines.  But  then  came 
the  white  father  and  held  out  his  hand  to  Mamo- 
chisane,  and  he  said, '  Maraochisane,  do  not  stumble. 
Here,  take  my  hand  and  let  me  guide  you.  Do  not 
draw  back,  do  not  be  afraid ;  I  come  not  to  hurt, 
but  to  help  you.  I  am  your  brother,  your  brother 
in  Christ  Jesus,  and  the  great  Father  of  all,  he  has 
sent  me.' — Oh,  missie,  dear  good  missie  !"  the  old 
woman  cries  suddenly,  her  voice  ringing  out  with  a 
clearness  and  strength  that  startles  them,  "  I  want 
to  thank  you  for  everything  you  have  done  for  poor 
old  black  Mamochisane.  This  night  would  her  soul 
have  gone  forth  among  the  howling  beasts  of  the 
great  dark  wilderness  to  wander  for  ever  lost,  but 
for  my  white  father  and  my  white  father's  children. 
Oh,  mi&sie  !  missie!  Avhen  Mamochisane  thinks  of 
all  those  who  still  wander  away  from  the  light,  the 
heart  of  Mamochisane  is  pierced  as  the  heart  the 
arrow  strikes,  and  her  wailings  are  as  the  wail- 
ings  of  those  who  weep  for  the  lost.  Oh,  missie, 
who  will  tell  them  of  the  way?  who  will  now  hold 
the  light  before  them,  now  that  the  white  father  is 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  321 

gone,  and  the  white  father's  children  too  have  turned 
tlioir  faces  away  from  the  country  of  the  blacks  to 
seek  the  country  of  their  white  brothers  ?" 

Almost  at  the  same  instant  Ellie  and  Cunnyng- 
ham  raise  their  heads  to  glance  at  each  other,  while 
a  look,  the  intense  meaning  of  which  it  is  impossible 
to  mistake,  passes  between  them. 

"  Comfort  yourself,  Mamochisane,"  Ellie  says  in 
a  soothing  voice.  "  My  father's  mission  was  by  no 
means  the  only  one  in  the  country  of  the  blacks, 
nor  even  in  your  section  of  it.  Along  the  east 
coast  and  the  west  coast,  about  the  great  lakes, 
upon  the  southern  borders,  even  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  wild  Zambezi,  there  are  planted  the 
standards  of  many  brave  soldiers  of  the  cross  who 
have  come  to  tell  your  people  of  Him  who  is 
mighty  to  save  from  the  curse  of  sin." 

A  happy  light  breaks  over  the  withered  face, 
while  the  sunken  eyes  dilate  and  glow  with  the 
glad  reflection  : 

"  Oh,  missie,  is  this  true  ?  is  this  true  ?" 

"  It  is  true,  Mamochisane." 

"Then,  missie,  Mamochisane  can  die  with  the 
pang  gone  from  her  heart.  Oh,  bless  God  !  bless 
God !" 

The  last  words  are  barely  spoken  when  Cunnyng- 
ham,  intensely  pale,  but  with  a  look  upon  his  face 
that  transfigures  its  every  lineament,  approaches  the 
bed,  and,  dropping  upon  his  knees,  fixes  his  eyes 
steadfastly  upon  Mamochisane. 

21 


322  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHAIU: 

"  Mamochisane,"  he  says  iu  tones  that  are  barely 
audible  at  times  through  the  great  emotion  that 
sways  him,  "  if  it  will  comfort  you  any  to  know 
that  /  will  be  one  more  to  ciu'ry  the  light  to  those 
who  yet  wander  iu  the  darkness,  then  take  that 
comfort  with  you.  If  God  spares  my  life  to  reach 
the  United  States — and  somehow  I  do  not  doubt 
it — I  shall  at  once  offer  myself  to  one  of  the  mis- 
sionary societies  to  go  in  training  for  the  field  in 
Africa. — Here,  O  God,  upon  my  bended  knees  and 
by  the  side  of  this  ransomed  soul  that  has  been 
given  thee  as  an  eloquent  witness  of  what  man, 
even  humble  man,  may  do  for  thee,  I  consecrate 
myself  to  thy  work  in  Africa." 

Ere  these  last  sentences  are  spoken  two  forms 
have  prostrated  themselves  beside  Cunnyngham, 
and  now,  clasping  him  closely  in  their  arms,  Ellie 
and  Hope  give  vent  to  the  sobs  of  mingled  feelings 
of  sadness  and  joy  that  for  some  moments  over- 
come all  efforts  at  words. 

As  for  Mamochisane,  she  lies  there  with  glisten- 
ing eyes  and  smiling  lips,  too  happy  to  speak. 

Ellie  is  the  first  to  find  her  voice : 

"Oh,  my  cousin,  you  have  been  rightly  named. 
I  can  see  now  the  happy  light  that  will  come  into 
the  face  of  him  whose  name  you  bear  when  this 
is  told  him.  In  the  golden  morning  of  his  own 
young  manhood  he  went  bravely  and  nobly  forth 
at  the  call  of  China,  and  now,  following  worthily 
in    his   footsteps,  you   have   devoted   your    life    to 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  323 

Africa.  Truly  that  name  has  been  a  grand  inspi- 
ration, leading  you  ever  onward  toward  all  that  is 
noblest  and  best.  Oh,  if  my  father  could  only  have 
lived  to  see  this  day!  But  do  not  think/'  she  goes 
on  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  that  you  are  to  be 
alone  in  this  sacrifice,  if  sacrifice  it  can  be  called. 
Like  you,  I  see  the  way  clearly  now,  though  it  was 
a  hard  struggle  at  first,  and,  like  you,  I  shall  follo\v 
unhesitatingly  in  it.  My  sex,  I  know,  \vill  debar 
me  from  the  broader  and  more  useful  field  into 
Avhich  yours  will  carry  you ;  but  being  a  woman 
"will  make  me  only  the  more  earnestly  desirous 
of  doing  a  woman's  part  as  only  a  woman  can  do 
it.  One  woman's  fall  work  for  the  Master !  Oh 
is  it  not  a  hundred — nay,  a  thousand — times  better 
than  the  scant  and  incomplete  service  of  many  men  ! 
If  God  wills  it  that  we  shall  reach  the  States  iu 
safety,  I  too  shall  offer  myself  for  the  instruction 
and  training  necessary  to  fit  me  for  the  work  in 
Africa.  To  what  point  they  send  me  matters  not, 
so  that  it  is  with  you,  my  cousin,  and  to  the  most 
benighted  of  all  these  lost  souls  that  wander  in 
the  darkness. — Where  there  is  the  most  work  to  be 
done,  where  the  aching  brow  and  the  toiling  hands, 
the  blistering  feet  and  the  fierce  pangs  of  the  fever 
and  the  death-dealing  darts  of  savage  enemies  are 
but  a  few  of  the  many  discomforts  and  dangers  to 
be  faced  and  borne  in  the  promotion  of  thy  king- 
dom, there  send  me,  O  Father,  and  keep  me  and 
streuii-then   me  and  use  me  as  an   humble   instru- 


324  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

mcnt  in  thy  hands  for  the  accomplishment  of  thy 
purposes." 

"Oh,  EUie!"  Hope  exclaims  at  this  moment  as, 
rising,  she  throws  one  arm  aroiuul  her  cousin's  and 
the  other  about  her  brother's  neck,  drawing  them 
as  close  to  her  as  siie  can,  "you  two  have  but  given 
voice  to  all  the  thoughts  tliat  have  for  so  long  a  time 
past  been  crowding  within  my  heart.  Many,  many 
times  I  have  wanted  to  speak  them  where  all  could 
hear,  but  always  my  timidity  restrained  me.  Now 
I  say  to  you  in  words  that  well  forth  from  the  very 
depths  of  my  soul :  '  I  too  have  chosen,  my  brother, 
my  cousin.  Your  cause  shall  be  my  cause,  your 
work  my  work,  and  wherever  that  work  may  lead 
you  there  will  I  follow,  and,  toiling  by  your  side, 
will  find  my  sweetest  reward  in  the  words  of  encour- 
agement you  each  shall  give  and  in  the  approval  of 
God  our  Father.' — Oh,  Cunnyngham,  I  have  not 
your  zeal  nor  your  strength  nor  your  talent  nor 
your  will  to  wrest  success  where  failure  seems  im- 
minent; nor  your  faith  and  courage,  EUie,  to  sus- 
tain me  in  the  hours  of  weakness  and  trial ;  but 
what  I  lack  in  ability  I  feel  that  God  will  give  me 
in  willingness,  and  cause  me  yet  to  be  the  humble 
means,  through  his  sustaining  grace,  of  bringing 
many  of  these  perishing  souls  to  Christ." 

"Every  word  that  you  three  have  uttered  has 
found  an  echo  in  my  heart,"  says  Pierce,  who  for 
some  time  past  has  been  kneeling  at  his  sister's 
side,  aud    now  raises  his  head  to  glance  bravely 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  325 

from  one  to  the  other.  "But  I  fear  that  you  will 
feel  some  disappointment  when  I  confess  to  a  con- 
viction that  shows  me  the  path  of  duty  not  alto- 
gether in  the  direction  that  it  has  been  shown  to 
you.  Yours  is  to  be  a  mission  to  sin-sick  souls — 
mine  to  disease-stricken  bodies.  I  shall  offer  for  the 
study  of  medicine,  to  return,  when  ray  course  is  com- 
pleted, to  any  one  of  these  mission-fields  in  Africa 
to  which  those  in  authority  may  see  fit  to  send  me ; 
but,  like  you,  Ellie,  my  one  hope  is  that  they  may 
send  us  together  or  so  near  together  that  we  may 
work  one  with  the  other." 

A  wonderful  change  has  now  come  over  JSfa- 
mochisane.  Every  word  of  this  conversation  has 
been  heard  and  understood  by  her.  That  the  chil- 
dren of  the  white  father,  the  man  who  has  done 
so  much  for  the  spiritual  welfare  of  Mamochisane 
herself  and  for  so  many  of  her  people, — that  his 
children  are  really,  after  all,  not  going  away  for 
good,  that  they  will  return  in  a  little  while  only 
the  better  equipped  for  bringing  the  messages  of 
healing  and  hope  to  those  sick  in  soul  and  body, 
is  happiness  enough  for  Mamochisane.  Now,  in- 
deed, has  the  arrow  been  taken  from  her  heart,  with 
not  one  pang  remaining.  No  more  do  her  lips  send 
forth  wailiugs  for  those  who  wander  in  the  dark- 
ness, but  all  is  peace  and  joy  indescribable. 

"Missie,"  says  the  old  black  suddenly,  turning 
so  as  to  face  Ellie  with  the  full  force  of  her  burn- 
ing eyes,  "  where  is  my  baby  ?  where  is  the  little 


326  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

one  that  has  so  long  hiin  against  old  Mamoehisane's 
breast? — the  little  one  that  my  white  father's  wife 
placed  in  Maniochisane's  arms  when  the  message 
came  for  her  to  go  to  the  country  where  the  great 
God  dwells,  and  that  the  white  father  himself  gave 
again  into  Maniochisane's  keeping  with  the  words, 
'  Never  leave  my  little  one,  Mamochisane.  As  you 
have  cared  for  her  and  watched  over  her  so  faith- 
fully for  our  sakes,  now  take  her  and  love  her  and 
care  for  her  for  her  own  sake.'  Oh,  missie,  many, 
many  times  Mamochisane  has  thought  of  those 
words,  and  again  and  again  has  she  begged  of  the 
great  God  whom  she  loves  and  trusts  to  make  her 
faithful    in  the  charge." 

Carefully  and  tenderly  Ihe  little  one  is  brought 
and  laid  on  the  bed  with  Mamochisane.  The  pale, 
pinched  face,  strangely  pathetic  now  in  its  look  of 
utter  unconsciousness,  is  turned  so  that  the  piereing 
eyes  of  the  faithful  old  black  woman  may  rest  full 
upon  it.  The  fair  hair  sweeps  the  pillow  upon  which 
Maniochisane's  head  with  its  cleanly-kept  crown  of 
gray-sprinkled  fleece  lies  extended.  A  glittering 
strand  here  and  there  falls  against  the  heaving  breast 
of  the  dying  black  woman  or  lies  like  a  thread  of 
finely-spun  gold  across  her  arm. 

For  many  moments  they  lie  thus,  neither  mov- 
ing, the  baby's  white  face  upturned,  strangely  white 
and  deathly  still — Maniochisane's  black  one,  alert 
with  all  the  instincts  of  life,  droo])ing  toward  it. 
Directly  those  who  wateli   this  scene  witness  that 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  327 

the  memory  of  which  never  leaves  them  to  their 
last  hour.  Not  more  than  ten  minutes  have  gone 
by  since  the  phicing  of  the  little  one  upon  the  bed 
beside  Mamochisane,  when  suddenly  the  arms  of 
the  old  black  woman  are  extended,  and  ere  any  one 
can  stay  the  action  they  raise  and  clasp  the  little 
one  against  the  swelling  breast  with  a  quick,  con- 
vulsive movement,  while  with  a  smile  that  illu- 
mines the  face  as  no  smile  of  earth  could  ever 
illumine  it  the  lips  send  forth  the  glad,  exult- 
ant cry, 

"  Mamochisane  has  not  left  the  little  one,  white 
father!     She  is  here!  she  is  here!" 

A  tremor  passes  along  the  muscles  of  the  arms ; 
they  quiver,  then  lie  motionless,  with  their  burden 
still  clasped  closely  between  them  ;  the  light  dies 
out  of  the  eyes,  the  heavy  lids  drop  across  them, 
but  the  smile  still  abides  in  all  its  beauty  upon 
the  withered  fice. 

When,  after  some  moments  of  gentle  yet  per- 
sistent effort,  the  young  people  release  the  stiffened 
clasp  of  the  arras  from  about  the  form  of  the  child, 
they  discover  the  fact — a  sad  premonition  of  which 
has  been  carried  to  their  hearts  with  that  last  ring- 
ing cry  of  Mamochisane's — that  both  are  dead,  the 
faithful  black  guardian,  faithful  in  death  as  in  life, 
and  the  tender  innocent  charge :  the  breath  of  the 
destroyer  of  all  earthly  semblances  has  claimed  each 
alike,  the  fragile  lily  and  the  scarred  and  hoary 
trunk  against  which  it  drooped. 


328  VHlLDliEN  OF  THE  KALAHARI. 

And  ill  that  saiiu'  inomoiit  that  those  glad,  exult- 
ant notes  have  swelled  from  the  lips  of  the  dying 
blaek  woman,  the  two  spirits,  mingling  as  the  sweet 
perfume  of  the  opening  flowers  sometimes  min- 
gles witli  the  rushing  winds  of  the  night,  have  been 
borne  upward,  upward  as  the  unfettered  bird  takes 
its  flight,  to  the  waiting  ones  in  the  land  beyond  all 
shadows.  Black  soul  and  white,  they  have  ascend- 
ed unto  Him  who  has  breathed  into  each  the  same 
breath  of  life,  and  through  whom  each  is  to  receive 
the  radiant  habiliments  of  that  immortality  that  is 
the  reward  of  every  soul  made  spotless  through  his 
grace — an  immortality  born  of  the  glory  that  shines 
for  ever  from  the  countenance  of  the  living  God, 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

"His  hand  sliall  guide  them  to  the  end." 

AT  dawu  on  the  fifth  day  of  May  all  is  in  readi- 
ness for  the  renewal  of  the  journey  across  the 
plains. 

From  observations  taken  as  accurately  and  as 
carefully  as  he  can  with  the  instruments  at  hand, 
Cunnyngham  has  arrived  at  the  belief  that  they 
are  not  more  than  a  hundred  miles  from  the  north- 
ern edge  of  the  desert  and  about  one  hundred  and 
fifty  from  the  eastern,  or,  as  near  as  he  can  calcu- 
late, in  latitude  between  21°  and  22°  south  and 
longitude  23°  and  24°  east.  Their  faithless  guides 
have  therefore  brought  them  many  miles  out  of 
the  way,  while  their  own  wanderings  have  greatly 
increased  the  distance. 

But  Cunnyngham  has  much  hope  that  by  means 
of  the  sextant  and  compass,  and  with  the  knowl- 
edge he  possesses  of  some  of  the  routes  gone  over 
by  Livingstone  and  his  hunter-friends  Cumming, 
Oswell  and  Murray,  he  can  yet  guide  the  little 
band  aright  in  the  journey  to  Liuyanti. 

He  therefore  purposes,  on  leaving  the  encamp- 
ment in  the  wilderness,  to  pursue  a  course  as  nearly 

H2'J 


330  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

due  iiortli-east  as  he'  can  make  it,  in  wliii-h  direc- 
tion he  liopes,  after  a  journey  of  two  weeks  at 
the  longest,  to  reach  tlie  Zouga  River  at  some  ford 
where  it  has  been  previouisly  crossed  by  Living- 
stone and  other  travelers.  Here,  by  following  the 
northern  bank  of  the  river  for  some  distance,  tljey 
will  doubtless  chance  ujion  a  village  of  the  Bayeiye, 
a  friendly  tribe,  from  whom  a  guide  may  be  ob- 
tained to  conduct  them  over  the  best  and  safest 
route  to  Linyanti. 

In  the  mean  time,  however,  tliere  is  the  proba- 
bility ere  the  Zouga  is  reached  of  finding  on  the 
way  a  kraal  of  Busluneu  by  whose  direction  the 
ford  can  more  easily  be  found. 

By  a  judicious  hoarding  of  their  small  stores,  the 
result  of  their  agricultural  labors  and  of  numerous 
foraging  expeditions  through  the  forest  and  across  the 
j)lains,  they  have,  on  quitting  the  encampment  in  the 
desert,  enough  provisions  to  supply  them  a  month, 
perhaps  as  long  as  five  weeks  if  they  can  manage 
to  add  something  to  them  on  the  way,  which  is  by 
no  means  improbable. 

It  is  with  hearts  in  which  many  varied  feelings 
struggle  for  the  mastery  that  they  look  their  last 
upon  a  spot  where  six  such  eventful  months  have 
been  passed.  Although  it  has  been  in  the  very  midst 
of  the  savage  and  inhospitable  desert,  and  although 
dangers  have  so  constantly  beset  them  on  every  side,  it 
has  nevertheless  been  as  a  home  to  them.  Tlie  tears 
fall  thick  and  fast,  in  spite  of  their  efforts  to  restrain 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  331 

them,  as  they  ck>se  and  bar  the  door  upon  the  hut 
where  so  many  happy  hours  have  been  spent,  while 
choking  sobs  are  added  to  the  tears  as  they  bend  for 
the  last  time  above  tlie  mound  that  contains  all  of 
the  earthly  part  of  old  Mamochisane  and  of  Baby 
Louise. 

Inseparable  and  devotedly  attached  in  life,  in 
burial  they  have  not  divided  them,  as  God  has 
not  divided  the  two  spirits  at  the  moment  of  their 
happy  release.  Close  together  tiiey  lie  in  the  same 
narrow  confine  of  earth,  as  together  they  shall  arise 
on  the  resurrection  morn,  the  black  body  and  the 
white,  to  be  made  partakers  with  the  spirits  in  the 
life  active,  joyous,  everlasting,  supreme — the  eter- 
nal life  with  God. 

The  grave  has  been  dug  under  one  of  the  larger 
mimosa  trees  within  the  enclosure,  and  covei^ed  with 
a  raised  work  of  stone,  so  as  to  protect  it  after  their 
departure  from  the  ravages  of  beasts.  Above  it 
the  birds  sing  and  about  it  the  winds  whisper, 
while  through  the  leaves  of  the  trees  gleaming 
shafts  of  sunlight,  dropping  downward,  bring  with 
them  faint  yet  happy  suggestions  of  the  greater 
light  that  lies  beyond. 

For  the  first  two  days  after  resuming  the  jour- 
ney across  the  plains  their  way  lies  over  a  sandy 
tract  on  which  no  sign  of  water  appears,  despite 
the  rains  which  have  recently  fallen.  But  against 
this  they  have  guarded  by  bringing  a  suj)ply  of 
water  with  them  from  the  pool  at  the  encampment. 


332  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

The  third  day  some  rain-pools  are  reaehed,  and 
agaiu  on  the  fourth  and  filth  days.  On  the  sixth, 
seventh  and  eighth  days  of"  the  journey  they  pass 
through  great  stretches  of  watermelons,  on  which 
both  they  and  the  cattle  subsist  for  the  entire  tliree 
days,  finding  them  a  most  excellent  substitute  for 
the  water  which  they  have  not. 

After  leaving  these  tracts  of  melons  two  stages 
of  their  journey  behind,  they  enter  upon  a  hard, 
flat  country — as  flat  as  the  floor  of  a  modern  house. 
This  hardness  is  accounted  for  by  its  having  a  thin, 
light  top  soil  lying  ujion  a  strata  of  calcareous  tufa. 
This  tract  extends  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  and, 
despite  the  thinness  of  the  soil,  it  yet  supports  a 
vegetation  of  fine,  sweet  grass  upon  which  the 
horse,  aittle  and  donkeys  revel. 

Several  mopane  and  baobab  trees  are  also  seen 
here,  some  of  the  latter  being  of  such  enormous 
dimensions  that  they  call  forth  many  exclamations 
of  wonder  from  our  young  people.  One  of  them 
especially  is  of  an  almost  incredible  size.  It  con- 
sists of  six  large  branches  and  four  smaller  ones 
united  into  one  trunk,  the  dimensions  of  tiie  latter 
being,  as  they  find  by  actual  measurement,  at  three 
feet  from  tlie  ground  no  less  than  ninety-seven 
feet  six  inches  in  circumference.  And  yet  the  trunk 
is  not  more  than  fifteen  or  sixteen  feet  in  height. 
The  liml)s  branch  to  such  an  extent  that  Cunnyng- 
ham  feels  no  hesitancy  in  declaring  that  he  is  con- 
fident if  the  circle  that  surrounds  them  could  be 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  333 

measured  it  would  be  found  to  contain  no  less  than 
three  huiKlrcd  and  fifty  or  four  hundred  feet! 

This  enormous  bulk  of  branches  gives  the  tree 
at  a  distance  the  appearance  of  being  a  whole  forest 
in  itself.  The  lower  branches,  which  are  adorned 
with  tufts  of  leaves,  extend  from  the  sides  horizon- 
tally, and,  bending  their  great  weight  toward  the 
earth,  add  still  further  to  the  gigantic  appearance 
of  the  tree.  The  bark  is  nearly  an  inch  in  thick- 
ness, and  is  of  an  ash-colored  gray,  greasy  to  the 
touch  and  also  very  smooth  ;  the  exterior  is  adorned 
with  a  sort  of  varnish,  while  the  inside  is  of  a  bril- 
liant green  beautifully  speckled  with  bright  red. 
The  wood  itself  is  white  and  soft  and  penetrable, 
so  much  so  that  when  an  axe  or  other  like  in- 
strument is  struck  into  it,  it  is  very  difficult  to 
release  it. 

The  tree  toward  which  the  attention  of  our  young 
travelers  has  been  attracted  in  so  great  a  degree  is 
quite  hollow,  while  for  several  feet  up  it  is  denuded 
of  its  bark,  but  despite  these  ravages  it  still  shows 
many  and  most  vigorous  signs  of  a  wonderful 
vitality. 

"  Is  it  true  that  baobab  trees  never  die?"  ques- 
tions Hope  as  they  stand  gazing  upon  the  battle- 
scarred  monster. 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  they  die  some  time,"  retui-ns 
Cunnyngham,  "but  I  believe  all  naturalists  have 
agreed  in  considering  them  the  longest-lived  of 
any   forest  growth,  while  some  even  declare  that 


334  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHAlll: 

many  of  the  trees  now  alive  and  flouris.luug  were 
in  existence  at  the  time  of  the  Flood." 

"  I  cannot  believe  ///«/,"  says  Ellie  with  nuich 
positiveness.  "  The  baobab — or  mowaiia,  as  the 
Bechuanas  call  it — doubtless  lives  to  be  many  hun- 
dred years  old,  but  1  Icel  assured  that  none  of  those 
trees  of  this  sjiecies  alive  at  the  present  day  encoun- 
tered the  nivaj^es  of  the  Flood." 

"One  singular  thing  about  it,  at  any  rate,"  says 
Pierce,  "is  that  one  rarely  finds  a  dead  baobab. 
Livingstone  records  that  in  all  his  travels  he  only 
came  upon  a  single  one." 

"  That  is  all  owing  to  the  wellnigh  incredible 
vitality  the  tree  is  known  to  possess,"  returns  Cnn- 
nyngham.  "  Dr.  Livingstone  saw  several  instances 
in  Angola  in  which  the  tree  continued  to  grow  even 
after  it  had  been  cut  down  !" 

"  Why,  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  !"  says 
Hope;  "and  if  any  one  else  but  Dr.  Livingstone 
had  written  that,  I  am  very  much  afraid  I  wouldn't 
have  wanted  to  believe  it." 

"Is  it  true  that  even  fire  cannot  destroy  it?" 
apks  Hope  again. 

"It  is  true.  Neither  from  within  nor  from 
without  can  fire  do  the  tree  irreparable  injury." 

"  Well,  how,  then,  does  it  ever  die?" 

"That,  my  dear  sister,  is  what  Marvin  and  Hen- 
rietta would  call  *a  puzzler.'  I  supj)ose  it  finds 
its  death  at  last,  as  all  things  earthly  must  find  it, 
in  a  complete  exhaustion  of  its  powers." 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  335 

A  little  farther  on  they  eonie  upon  a  succession 
of  salt-pans,  one  of  them  being,  they  estimate,  fully 
ten  miles  in  breadth.  To  their  surprise,  they  find 
near  one  of  these  pans  a  s])ring  of  very  good  water. 
It  is  a  little  brackish,  it  is  true,  but  not  enough  so 
to  render  it  disagreeable. 

"  The  salt-deposits  at  the  bottom  of  this  spring 
have  been  removed  by  human  agency,  I  feel  as- 
sured," says  Pierce,  "  doubtless  by  travelers  like 
ourselves ;  or  it  may  be  that  we  are  not  far  from 
the  habitation  of  some  native  tribe,  in  all  proba- 
bility Bushmen." 

Pierce's  words  have  quite  a  cheerful  effect  upon 
the  little  party,  and  when  they  leave  the  salt-paus 
behind  it  is  with  much  hope  of  soon  coming  upon 
a  village  of  some  kind. 

A  few  miles  farther  on  they  reach  a  habitation 
of  Bushmen  under  their  chief,  Mochotska.  They 
find  this  people  very  different  in  many  respects 
from  those  of  the  same  family  whom  they  have 
met  on  the  other  side  of  the  desert.  While  those 
were  of  short  stature  and  of  a  dull-yellow  color, 
most  of  these  are  tall,  strapping  fellows,  with  strong, 
])0werful  limbs,  big  heads,  prominent  foreheads  and 
dark,  nearly  black,  complexions. 

The  chief,  howev'er,  is  an  exception,  and  an  odd- 
ity, too,  in  his  way.  He  is  rather  small  of  stature, 
or  he  seems  small  in  comparison  with  the  tall,  pow- 
erful frames  of  most  of  his  people.  He  has  a 
somewhat  large,  bullet-shaped  head,  with  a  reced- 


336  CHILDREN   OF  THE  K ALA II Mil: 

ing  forehead,  prominent  cars,  a  widespreatling  nose 
and  keen  little  black  eyes  that  twinkle  like  beads 
on  which  the  snn  glints. 

One  of  Mochutska's  favorite  pastimes  is  play- 
ing on  the  gorrah,  a  musical  instrument  resembling 
the  bow  of  a  violin,  though  used  quite  differently, 
and  combining  the  properties  of  both  a  string  and  a 
wind  instrument.  It  consists  of  a  slender  bow  ou 
which  is  a  string  made  of  the  carefully  drial  in- 
testine of  some  animal  of  the  feline  species.  To 
the  lower  part  of  the  string  a  flat  piece  of  ostrich 
quill  is  attached  so  as  to  form  part  of  the  length 
of  the  string.  On  being  applied  to  the  lips  this 
quill  is  made  to  vibrate  by  strongly  inhaling  and 
exhaling  the  air.  The  tones  that  result,  while 
possessing  considerable  power,  are  nevertheless  so 
sadly  lacking  in  harmony  as  to  give  the  impression 
to  the  civilized  ear  of  more  noise  than  music.  Mo- 
chotska,  however,  judging  by  the  constancy  with 
which  he  and  his  instrumciit  keep  each  other  com- 
pany, seems  never  to  tire  of  its  sounds,  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  to  enjoy  them  to  the  fullest  extent. 

Mochotska's  manner  of  playing  the  instrument 
is — first  to  seat  himself  upon  a  flat  rock,  with  his 
elbows  resting  upon  his  knees.  He  next  puts  one 
forefinger  into  his  ear  and  the  other  into  his  some- 
what expansive  nostril.  His  object  in  this  is 
doubtless  to  steady  the  head  Mhile  in  its  labor  of 
bringing  forth  the  vigorous  sounds  with  which  he 
keeps  up  his  solo  all  the  way  through. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  337 

Our  young  travelers  are  kindly  received  by  this 
kraal  of  Bushmen,  who  have  before  had  visits  from 
the  whites,  oue  or  two  parties  of  hunters  having 
stopped  with  them  on  their  way  from  the  south- 
ern country  to  that  about  Lake  N'gami  and  the 
Zambezi  River. 

For  a  fair  consideration  aud  with  Mochotska's 
aid  our  young  friends  are  enabled  to  engage  the 
services  of  one  of  the  Bushmen  as  guide  to  the 
ford  ou  the  Zouga  at  which  they  desire  to  cross. 
He  has  also  consented,  in  case  they  do  not  succeed 
iu  getting  one  of  the  Bayeiye,  to  accompany  them 
all  the  way  to  Linyauti. 

After  i-emaining  two  days  at  the  Bushmen  vil- 
lage in  order  to  rest  themselves  and  their  tired  ani- 
mals, they  set  forth  again  upon  their  journey.  It  is 
with  very  light  hearts  that  they  take  up  this  portion 
of  it,  for  now  it  seems  to  them  that  the  worst  of 
their  trials,  at  least  until  Liuyauti  is  reached,  are 
over.     Alas  !  they  are  but  beginning. 

Two  days  out  from  the  Bushmen  village,  while 
crossing  a  stretch  of  woods  several  miles  in  ex- 
tent, the  cattle  are  all  bitten  by  that  dread  pest  of 
African  explorers,  the  tsetse  fly.  The  travelers 
now  realize  only  too  well  that  the  ultimate  death  of 
the  poor  beasts  is  but  a  question  of  time,  and  while 
they  hope  and  pray  that  they  may  yet  reach  Lin- 
yanti  ere  any  serious  consequences  take  place,  still 
it  is  with  many  grave  doubts  and  misgivings  that 
they  push  forward  on  their  way. 

22 


338  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

Soon  after  lliey  have  ero.s.sed  the  Zoiiga  they  wit- 
ness the  firet  signs  of  failing  in  the  oxen  that  have 
been  bitten.  Three  of  them — two  that  are  leaders 
and  the  very  best  they  have — are  attacked  with  stag- 
gering and  blindness,  and  in  another  chn-  have  fallen 
by  tiie  way.  In  three  days  more  two  others  are 
dead,  the  poor  horse  Khiva  and  two  of  the  dogs ; 
of  the  latter,  Spoorer,  Smike  and  Chitane  alone 
remaining. 

At  the  end  of  another  three  days  all  the  oxen 
show  signs  of  the  fatal  visit  of  the  tsetse.  Their 
jaws  have  begun  to  swell,  their  eyes  and  noses  to 
run,  -while  the  poor  brutes  constantly  shiver  as 
though  attacked  with  a  sudden  ague. 

They  have  now  only  fourteen  of  the  oxen  left, 
and  as  this  team  is  insufficient,  even  when  at  its 
best,  to  draw  the  huge,  lumbering  wagon,  it  is  all 
the  poor  brutes  can  now  do  to  stagger  along  with 
it,  although  it  has  been  relieved  of  everything  that 
could  possibly  be  sacrificed.  But  even  this  proves 
of  little  avail,  for  in  three  days  more  only  nine  of 
the  oxen  are  left,  and  all  of  these  are  in  such  a  con- 
dition that  they  cannot  so  much  as  pull  the  running 
part  of  the  wagon,  with  planks  across  it  in  place  of 
the  frame,  which  has  been  removed. 

At  this  point  our  friends  realize  that  the  wagon 
and  all  such  belongings  as  cannot  be  packed  upon 
the  backs  of  the  donkeys  must  be  abandoned.  As 
to  the  poor  oxen,  their  first  thought  is  to  kill  them, 
in  order  to  put  them  out  of  further  suffering,  but 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  339 

no  one  having  the  heart  to  undertake  this,  they 
are  turned  loose  to  fare  as  best  they  can.  There  is 
plenty  of  grass  upon  which  they  can  graze,  and 
water  for  them  to  drink,  but  that  the  poor  brutes 
will  soon  be  beyond  the  need  of  anything  of  the 
kind  they  know  only  too  w^ell. 

The  condition  of  our  travelers,  especially  of  the 
feminine  portion,  is  now  most  distressing,  for  all 
have  to  fare  alike  in  walking.  Sometimes,  however, 
the  children  get  a  lift  upon  one  of  the  donkeys,  or 
Ellie  and  Hope  can  in  the  like  manner  obtain  a  few 
miles  of  rest,  but  as  the  poor  beasts  have  usually 
about  all  they  can  carry,  the  older  girls  never  avail 
themselves  of  this  means  of  relief  for  bruised  and 
swollen  feet  or  stiff  and  aching  limbs  as  long  as  it 
is  possible  to  keep  from  it.  Sometimes,  too,  the 
faithfid  blacks  make  a  litter  of  boughs,  on  which 
they  insist  on  cariying  the  two  young  girls  and 
the  children  for  a  part  of  the  day  at  least. 

All  are  now  reduced  to  the  single  suit  of  cloth- 
ing each  wears,  which  in  many  instances  has  been 
brought  to  a  most  forlorn  condition  owing  to  the 
innumerable  briers  and  thorny  thickets  through 
which  several  times  since  setting  forth  on  foot  they 
have  had  literally  to  fight  their  way.  Often  and 
often  the  way  leads  through  woods  so  dense  that 
every  foot  of  it  has  to  be  cleared  by  the  axes 
before  they  can  make  any  progress  at  all.  But 
for  the  thorns  and  briers  there  is  no  remedy,  only 
the  one  alternative  of  pushing  their  way  through 


340  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

them  a-s  l)est  they  can.  As  to  shoes,  not  more 
than  half  of  the  party  have  any  covering  whatever 
for  their  feet,  save  as  they  can  fasten  about  them 
bits  of  the  skins  of  such  auimals  as  they  uow 
and  then  kilh 

They  manage,  however,  to  secure  food  enough, 
such  as  it  is,  to  keep  them  from  actual  starvation, 
and,  though  in  the  midst  of  such  severe  depriva- 
tions and  acute  sufferings,  they  nevertiielcss  keep 
their  hearts  aglow  with  gratitude  to  God  that  their 
condition  is  no  worse  than  it  is.  That  he  will  ulti- 
mately bring  them  through  it  all  their  faith  is  as 
strong  now  as  it  has  ever  been  in  the  sunniest  hour 
of  their  trust  amid  the  comforts  of  their  old  home 
in  the  wilderness.  Many  times  now  Ellie  recog- 
nizes the  mercy  and  wisdom  of  God  in  taking  the 
little  Louise  unto  himself  ere  these  sorer  trials 
were  reached. 

At  length,  after  many  and  varied  ex])erieuces, 
none  of  which  it  forms  a  part  of  our  purpose  to 
describe,  and  after  having  passed  through  seve- 
ral villages  of  natives,  some  of  whom  treat  them 
very  kindly  and  others  again  rather  cruelly,  and 
throughout  every  one  of  which  experiences  they 
are  still  graciously  preserved  by  the  same  almighty 
Power  that  has  taken  note  of  every  step  of  their 
way  since  the  moment  of  their  setting  out,  they 
come  to  that  flat  and  marshy  country  that  is  com- 
pletely enclosed  by  the  rivers  Chobe,  Sonta,  Mebabe, 
Tso,  and  Embara. 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  341 

Here  tliey  find  a  most  distressing  state  of  affairs, 
for  all  tliese  rivers  having  overflown  their  banks 
during  the  recent  rains,  and  tiie  floods  having  not 
yet  subsided,  the  whole  country  as  far  as  the  eye 
can  reach  is  one  vast  sheet  of  water.  It  is  true 
that  they  are  now  on  tlie  bank  of  the  Sonta, 
farther  away  from  the  worst  of  the  overflowed 
country  or  that  portion  whicii  the  rivers  named 
so  completely  enclose,  but  still  it  is  bad  enough  as 
it  is,  and  for  the  first  few  hours  after  reaching  this, 
which  seems  an  impassable  barrier  to  their  further 
progress,  despair  reigns  supreme. 

Doubtless  it  would  not  strike  them  with  such 
overwhelming  force  were  it  not  that  they  are  com- 
pletely reduced  physically,  for  previous  to  reaching 
this  inundated  section  they  have  toiled  for  many 
hours  through  a  muddy  expanse,  in  many  parts  of 
which  the  water  has  been  ankle  deep,  with  no  way  of 
avoiding  it.  Added  to  the  water,  the  place  is  covered 
with  a  peculiar  serrated  grass  that  at  certain  angles 
cuts  the  flesh  like  a  razor,  and  by  immense  walls  of 
reeds,  which,  as  they  pass  between  them,  so  exclude 
the  air  as  to  produce  a  feeling  of  almost  unbearable 
suffocation.  Indeed,  Hope  faints  completely  away 
ere  she  has  passed  through  more  than  two-thirds 
of  the  necessary  distance,  while  Ellie  and  Henri- 
etta both  lose  consciousness  the  moment  the  open 
space  beyond  is  reached. 

They  are  now  in  the  most  desperate  and  forlorn 
straits,  for  in  addition  to  the  terrible  state  of  their 


342  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

clothing,  faoos,  hands,  knees  and  ('cot  are  out  and 
bleeding  tVoni  the  ra/.()i--Hk('  blades  of  grass. 

On  arriving  at  the  inundated  jiortion  they  are 
compelled  to  halt,  and  to  wait  until  a  raft  can  he 
constructed  of  such  material  as  they  have  at  hand. 
Fortunately,  the  carpenter's  tools  have  not  yet 
been  abandoned. 

Near  this  spot  they  are  also  fortunate  in  finding 
a  deserted  village,  abandoned  by  the  inhabitants  on 
the  approach  of  the  flood,  one  or  two  of  the  huts 
of  which,  being  at  a  greater  elevation  than  the  others, 
have  escaped  the  ravages.  These  not  only  afford 
them  shelter  while  awaiting  the  construction  of  the 
raft,  but  in  them  they  also  find  a  small  stock  of 
provisions — some  dried  game-flesh,  a  basket  or  two 
of  cassava,  some  potatoes  and  a  bag  of  pressed  fruit. 

Of  the  manv  obstacles  met  with  in  the  buildinor 
of  the  raft,  and  of  the  still  greater  difficulties  en- 
countered in  the  launching  of  it — the  almost  im- 
penetrable walls  of  reeds,  tiie  tangled  mats  of  low- 
growing  rushes  and  the  thick  masses  of  papyrus 
interlaced  with  convolvulus  with  which  the  banks 
of  the  river  are  lined — it  is  not  our  purpose  to 
speak.  Neither  have  we  the  sj)ace  to  detail  the 
many  and  trying  experiences  and  narrow  escapes 
of  our  friends  in  searching  for  the  main  channel 
of  the  Chobe,  by  means  of  which  and  of  the  raft, 
made  as  stout  and  serviceable  as  possible,  they 
hope  to  reach  Linyanti. 

At  length,  after  more  than    a  week  spent   upon 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  343 

this  raft,  (luring  wliich  their  sufferings  from  heat 
and  cold  in  turn,  from  hunger  and  from  blood- 
tliir.sty  attacks  of  huge  mosquitoes,  gnats,  flies  and 
other  like  pests,  and  during  which  time  they  also 
have  a  most  thrilling  experience  with  crocodiles 
and  another  with  hippopotami,  in  both  of  which 
they  come  near  losing  their  lives,  and  in  which 
poor  Spoorer  does  lose  his  life,  they  arrive  at  last 
in  si<rht  of  the  welcome  outlines  of  the  Makololo 
capital. 


CONCLUSION 


The  town  of  Linyanti,  capital  city  of  the  Ma- 
kololo tribes,  is  reached  by  our  young  people,  after 
many  trying  experiences  and  thrilling  adventures, 
in  the  early  morning  of  June  17,  187-,  just  six 
M'ceks  from  the  time  of  setting  out  from  the  en- 
campment in  the  desert.  It  is  situated  some  miles 
higher  up  the  river  Chobe  than  the  old  one  first 
visited  by  Livingstone  in  May,  1853.  It  stands 
upon  a  slight  elevation  that  slopes  toward  the  river, 
and,  although  the  surrounding  country  is  of  so  level 
a  nature,  it  is  nevertheless  possessed  of  much  sce- 
nery that  is  rich  and  picturesque. 

The  village  is  laid  out  in  the  form  of  a  lono- 
street,  at  the  end  of  which  are  clustered  the  chapel, 
the  school-house,  one  or  two  workshops  and  the 
late  dwellings  of  the  missionaries,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 


344  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALMIAIU: 

Ilelinore,  Mr.  ami  Mrs.  Mackon/io  and  Mr.  aiul 
Mrs.  Price,  whose  wholesale  aiul  untimely  taking 
off  through  that  dread  scourge,  African  fever, 
forms  one  of  the  most  depressing  pages  in  the 
history  of  Africjiu  missions. 

It  M'ill  be  remembered  by  those  familiar  with  the 
main  incidents  of  Livingstone's  African  life  that  on 
leaving  the  Makololo  for  the  east  coast,  whence  he 
was  expected  to  sail  for  England,  they  expressed 
a  desire  that  a  missionary  might  come  and  live 
with  them,  promising  if  the  desire  were  granted  to 
remove  from  the  deadly  swamj>s  in  the  midst  of 
which  they  were  then  residing  to  some  healthier  lo- 
cality farther  up  the  river.  Rev.  J.  E.  Chambliss, 
in  his  admirable  Life  of  Livingsfo)ie,  thus  sums  up 
the  short  and  tragic  history  of  the  mission:  "It 
had  seemed  very  desirable  to  establish  a  mission 
among  this  people  (the  Makololo),  because  of  the 
extent  of  their  dominion,  and  because  at  their  capi- 
tal Christian  teachers  would  be  in  constant  inter- 
course with  representatives  of  numerous  tribes. 
Accordingly,  the  London  Missionary  Society,  un- 
der whose  auspices  the  exploration  of  their  country 
had  been  effected,  undertook  the  work  of  establish- 
ing a  mission  at  the  town  of  Linyanti,  and  appoint- 
ed Rev.  Halloway  Ilelmore,  who  had  been  seven- 
teen years  a  missionary  among  the  Bechuanas,  and 
associated  with  him  Messrs.  Mackenzie  and  Price. 
These  younger  men,  accompanied  by  gentle  and 
true-hearted  wives,  who  ventured  to  hope  that  they 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  345 

could  go  where  Mrs.  Livingstone  had  gone,  left 
England  in  June,  1858,  and  in  July  landed  at  the 
Cape.  After  many  trying  experiences  the  mission- 
party  at  last  reached  the  scene  of  their  appointment 
in  February,  1860.  In  August  of  the  same  year, 
wheu  Dr.  Livingstone  arrived,  there  was  only  the 
sad  story  of  their  efforts  and  a  number  of  graves. 
They  had  come  ou  the  ground  in  the  most  unfav- 
orable season,  and  almost  from  the  time  of  their 
arrival  were  the  victims  of  the  prevailing  fever  of 
the  place." 

At  the  time  of  the  arrival  of  our  travelers,  in 
June,  187—,  there  is  no  missionary  at  the  village, 
many  Avho  doubtless  would  have  come  having 
beeu  discouraged  by  the  terrible  calamity  that  has 
put  such  a  complete  and  untimely  ending  to  the 
labors  of  the  six  brave  and  zealous  spirits.  But 
as  the  Makololo  have  a  serious  intention  of  again 
removing  their  village  to  some  healthier  locality, 
there  is  strong  probability  that  should  they  take  this 
step  the  society  will  send  them  another  pastor  and 
other  teachers,  or  it  may  be  that  some  earnest  and 
courageous  young  soul  may  be  found  to  v^olunteer 
at  the  call  of  the  Master  to  face  even  the  dan- 
gers of  this  unhealthy  locality.  A  coming  at  the 
proper  season,  so  as  to  allow  time  for  acclimation 
ere  the  fever  period  approaches,  and  the  timely  ad- 
ministering of  plentiful  doses  of  quinine,  have  a 
telling  effect  in  the  fight  with  the  fever  demon,  as 
the  steady  flame  of  faith  and  the  constant  fire  of 


346  CHILDREN  OF   TlIK  KALMIMll : 

ministerial  zeal  kept  biiniiiii::  in  the  lieart  have 
inuoh  to  do  toward  strengthening  body  as  \\A\  as 
soul  in  the  great  combat. 

In  the  mean  time,  however,  mueh  good  is  being 
done  at  Linyanti  by  two  native  teachers  converted 
and  educated  through  Dr.  Ivivingstone's  efforts,  and 
by  another  brougiit  by  Mr.  Ilelmore  from  Kuruman. 
These  men  keep  up  the  good  work  in  school-room 
and  shop,  and  regularly  on  the  Sabbath  and  twice 
during  the  Aveek  hold  religious  services  in  the 
chapel  and  the  kothi. 

The  Linyanti  reached  by  our  travelers  in  June, 
187-,  immbei"s  some  fifteen  lumdred  souls,  quite 
a  decrease  from  the  population  of  the  I^inyanti 
visited  by  Livingstone  in  1853.  Then  it  w'as  a 
large  and  populous  settlement  of  between  three 
thousand  five  hundred  and  four  thousand  souls. 
]5ut  the  death  of  the  great  "  lion  chief,"  Sebituane, 
together  with  the  weak  governing  powers  of  his  son 
and  successor,  Sekeletu,  through  whom  the  tribe 
has  been  led  into  numerous  hostile  encounters  with 
fierce  and  warlike  neighbors  and  plunged  into  va- 
rious disasters,  has  so  reduced  this  once  proutl  and 
strong  people  that  much  of  their  former  greatness 
and  glory  has  departed. 

But  that  a  measure  of  energy  is  still  left  is  fully 
attested  by  the  neatness,  order  and  thrift  visible 
throughout  their  capital  town.  Nearly  all  the 
huts,  which  are  tidy  and  well  constructed,  have 
behind   thcin  ample  gardens  that  stretch  away  on 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  347 

one  side  to  the  foot  of  a  small  wooded  hill  that  has 
more  the  appearance  of  a  large  artificial  mound  than 
anything  else,  and  on  the  other  side  to  the  banks 
of  the  river.  In  these  gardens  are  cultivated  maize, 
millet,  pumpkins,  onions,  parsnips,  potatoes,  beans, 
peas  and  various  other  vegetables.  A  few  young 
fruit  trees  and  various  banana,  cocoanut  and  other 
trees  are  also  scattered  about. 

Each  hut  has  a  low  doorway  in  front,  protected 
by  a  kind  of  veranda,  Mdiile  about  this  and  extend- 
ing some  feet  from  the  veranda  is  a  circular  court 
enclosed  either  with  rush  mats  or  a  wattle  hedge. 
In  this  court  the  fires  are  made  for  cooking  or 
warming  purposes,  the  food  being  cooked  in  fire- 
proof clay  pots  of  native  manufacture. 

The  houses  of  the  head-men,  the  mayor,  court- 
herald,  town-crier  and  other  officials  are  constructed 
on  a  more  pretentious  plan,  having  square  walls, 
high  roofs  and  verandas  that  extend  the  entire  dis- 
tance of  each  side.  About  them  are  grassy  walks, 
lined  with  rows  of  drooping  willows,  with  here  and 
there  a  palmetto  or  stiff-fronded  palm. 

As  the  raft  containing  our  travelers,  reduced 
through  their  many  and  varied  disasters  and  terri- 
ble experiences  to  a  state  in  which  death  seems  far 
nearer  than  life,  comes  suddenly  in  sight  of  this 
cheering  and  inspiring  place,  more  than  one  pair 
of  lips  give  forth  a  cry  of  thanksgiving  and  joy. 

The  sound  of  a  bell  now  ringing  across  the  wa- 
ters adds  still  further  to  the  inspiration  of  the  scene 


3-18  CHILDREN   OF  THE  KALAHAUI: 

and  to  tlic  gladness  of  tlifir  licarts.  It  is  the  first 
sound  of  anytliing  approachino;  civilized  life  that 
lias  greeted  their  ears  since  that  far-away  happy 
time  at  their  own  mission-station  of  Lepelole.  It 
is  one  of  the  days  on  which  religious  services  are 
held  by  the  native  teachers,  and  the  bell-tones  that 
they  have  heard  come  from  the  belfry  of  the  neat 
stone  chapel  at  the  upper  end  of  the  village. 

The  raft  having  been  anchored  at  a  convenient 
landing-place,  they  are  preparing  to  disembark, 
when  another  sound  greets  them — a  sound  that 
awakens  even  deeper  and  more  intense  feeling  than 
that  of  the  chapel-bell  has  done.  It  is  the  sound 
of  many  native  voices  singing  that  grand  Christian 
hymn,  *' Jesus,  Lover  of  my  soul,"  in  the  well- 
known  Sichuana  language. 

As  the  sweet,  solemn,  pathetic  harmony  of  the 
many  richly  swelling  voices,  joining  with  such  force 
and  fervor  in  the  words  of  the  moving  old  hymn, 
float  down  to  them,  the  teal's  glisten  in  more  than 
one  pair  of  eyes,  while  Ellie  and  Hope,  turning  so 
as  to  face  each  other,  clasp  hands  witli  feelings  too 
deep  and  too  varied  for  expression. 

Ere  they  have  advanced  many  steps  up  the  slight 
iucline  toward  the  village  several  of  the  population, 
having  caught  sight  of  them,  are  now  running  forth 
to  meet  them. 

In  a  little  while,  the  news  of  their  arrival  having 
been  carried  to  the  chapel,  they  are  surrounded,  ou 
reaching  the  foot  of  the  broad  street  that  passes 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  349 

through  the  village,  by  a  large  and  fast-increasiug 
assembly,  many  of  the  people  forcibly  gesticulating 
with  their  hands,  others  again  asking  questions  as 
fast  as  they  can  open  and  shut  their  mouths,  and 
all  overcome  by  a  curiosity  none  can  conceal. 

Having  singled  out  the  head-man,  Mamosale  by 
name,  Cuunyngham  addresses  himself  to  him,  aud 
soon  gives  him  an  account  of  the  party,  together 
with  the  story  of  their  wanderings  since  setting 
out  from  Lepelole,  closing  with  a  statement  of 
their  present  sore  straits  and  needs. 

The  old  head-man  proves  the  veiy  soul  of  kind- 
ness and  hospitality,  aud  at  the  conclusion  of  Cun- 
nyngham's  narrative  at  once  conducts  them  through 
the  ranks  of  the  congregated  villagers,  who  respect- 
fully make  way  for  them  to  pass  to  the  huts  for- 
merly occupied  by  the  dead  missionaries.  Here  they 
are  at  once  provided  with  food,  with  vessels  con- 
taining water  for  bathing  purposes  and  with  cloth- 
ing. As  the  Makololos  dress  in  what  is  very  much 
of  a  civilized  fashion,  the  men  wearing  fustian  jack- 
ets aud  leather  trousers  and  tlie  women  petticoats 
of  various  patterns,  karosses  and  either  fur  caps  or 
turbans  made  of  handkerchiefs,  there  is  no  great 
difficulty  in  finding  clothing  of  a  suitable  nature 
for  each  member  of  the  party. 

An  hour  or  so  later  the  old  town-crier,  Se-Pu- 
lenyane,  with  much  state  announces  throughout  the 
village  the  arrival  of  the  party. 

Mamosale's  quick  sympathy  and  ready  show  of 


350  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI: 

hospitality  are  but  a  foretaste  of  the  warm  and  hearty 
■welcome  that  is  subsequently  shown  them  on  every 
side  by  this  kindly  and  generous  people.  Every 
iiour  of  their  stay  they  feel  increasing  gratitude  and 
joy  in  their  hearts,  while  they  do  not  neglect  to  re- 
turn thanks  to  God  for  having  led  them  to  such 
a  comfortable  and  liospitable  place. 

But  as  much  as  their  hearts  are  gladdened  by 
the  Makololo,  their  joy  is  increased  tenfold  by  the 
news  they  learn  on  the  following  day.  A  j)arty 
of  hunters  from  the  Cape  are  now  on  the  river  in 
the  vicinity  of  Linyanti — four  white  men  with  an 
attendant  train  of  more  than  twoscore  servants  and 
bearers.  It  needs  not  the  names  of  these  white  men, 
which  Mamosale  afterward  calls,  to  carry  to  the 
hearts  of  our  travelers  the  joyful  conviction  that 
they  are  no  other  than  their  old  friends  Captain 
Murray  and  Mr.  Gumming,  with  their  friends  Gap- 
tains  Osgood  and  Saunders. 

A  goodly  part  of  the  effects  of  the  hunters,  in- 
cluding two  large  canoes  and  many  supplies,  are 
even  now  at  Linyanti  awaiting  the  return  of  their 
owners  down  the  river,  when  the  party  expect  to 
set  off  along  the  Zambezi  for  the  east  coast. 

In  a  few  days  the  good  news  is  confirmed  beyond 
a  doubt  by  the  arrival  at  Linyanti  of  Captain  Mur- 
ray, Mr.  Gumming  and  their  friends. 

The  meeting  between  the  former  and  our  young 
wanderers  can  much  better  be  imagined  than  de- 
scribed.   There  is  so  much  to  be  asked  and  answered 


A  STORY  OF  AFRICA.  351 

on  both  sides  that  they  sit  up  the  first  uiglit  of  their 
meeting  until  nearly  day-dawn  recounting  their 
many  changing  and  exciting  experiences. 

There  is  no  further  doubt  as  to  the  course  to  be 
pursued  by  our  young  people  in  reaching  the  coast. 
The  hunters  are  fully  equipped  with  canoes,  bearers 
and  supplies  for  making  the  trip  along  the  Zam- 
bezi to  Quilamane.  Indeed,  they  have  already 
made  it  inland,  transporting  the  canoes  around 
the  various  rapids  by  means  of  their  sturdy  bear- 
ers. At  Quilamane  there  is  anchored  the  private 
yacht  of  Captain  Osgood,  waiting  to  take  them 
to  the  Cape.  From  this  point  it  will  be  an  easy 
matter  for  our  traveling  friends  to  find  passage  for 
the  States. 

Jim  will  go  with  them,  as  it  is  Cunnyngham's 
design  to  have  him  educated  that  he  may  be  able 
to  act  as  a  native  teacher ;  Kamati  will  remain 
with  the  Makololos ;  Pitsane  has  attached  himself 
to  Captain  INIurray's  party ;  while  at  a  point  on  the 
Zambezi,  Mazika  will  seek  to  make  his  way  to  a 
portion  of  his  old  tribe,  now  established  in  the 
mountains  to  the  east  of   the  Banyai  country. 

It  does  not  form  a  part  of  the  purpose  of  the 
author  to  describe  the  events  that  mark  the  jour- 
ney from  Linyanti  to  Quilamane.  The  task,  so 
far  as  this  volume  is  concerned,  is  finished  with 
the  recording  of  the  arrival  of  our  young  people 
at  the  Makololo  capital.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that 
after  many  and  varied  experiences,  some  of  them 


352  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KALAHARI. 

thrilling  in  the  extreme,  and  others,  again,  of  not 
great  importance,  and  after  having  feasted  their 
eyes  to  their  fullest  upon  the  wonderful  Zambezi 
country,  and  having  had  many  escapes  from  fierce 
and  warlike  tribes,  they  arrive  at  last  safely  at 
Quilamane,  whence  the  yacht  is  taken  for  Cape 
Town.  At  this  latter  point  their  kind  friends  see 
them  aboard  a  steamer  bound  for  an  American 
port. 

Not  long  since  I  saw  in  a  newspaper  among  the 

names  of  those  accepted  by  the Missionary 

Society  for  the  work  in  Africu  that  of  the  Rev. 
Cuunyngham  Blaudford,  the  paper  further  stating 
that  on  the  same  vessel  carrying  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Blandford  to  his  distant  field  would  go  out,  as 
medical  assistant,  Dr.  Pierce  Lillington,  and  as 
teachers,  the  Misses  EUie  Lillington  and  Hope 
Blandford. 

Thus  have  the  vows  made  amid  the  wilds  of 
the  African  desert  ripened  into  rich  and  fragrant 
fruit. 


THE    END. 


3n   Theological   Sem 


1    1012  01231    0902 


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